


Can't Run From the Sun

by Ad_Astra



Series: Lights, Camera, Action [1]
Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Pining, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, UST, background SouGou, lots and lots of cameos, model!rin, other characters playing minor roles - Freeform, photographer!Makoto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-01 14:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2775797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ad_Astra/pseuds/Ad_Astra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Makoto takes pictures; Rin poses and rules the catwalk. </p><p>One day, they meet, and the world is never quite the same after that.</p><p>Backstory to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2569751">Shutter.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Day 2 of MakoRin week: Horror
> 
> Special thanks to [Sospi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/unsospiro) for the beta!

 

Makoto blinks at the assignment paper in front of him, the messy strokes spelling out _that_ name, looking almost surreal against the plainness of the bond paper. He traces the kanji with a finger, mouthing the name, half-considering pinching himself to check if he’s dreaming. In fact, dreaming doesn’t quite accurately cover this impossible phenomenon; it’s beyond any fictional hallucination in his mind, and possibly on a separate plane of existence altogether. Names like _his_ just don’t drop unexpected on Makoto’s lap; this must be a grave mistake, some other more famous Tachibana Makoto that has the rights to this.

He shakes his head, half-expecting to hear the rude decibels of his alarm clock any minute now.  “I’m sorry, there has to be some sort of mistake.“

"I’m afraid it’s no mistake Makoto,” Sasabe Goro, chief editor of Iwatobi Photography Studios, interrupts, the expression on his face akin to that of someone who has won the super lotto plus a side bonus of a crib full of kittens. “He saw your work on Nanase Haruka, and specifically asked for _you_.”

Makoto feels a specific sequence of three things. First, his stomach drops, a swooping sensation similar to the downward pull of a roller coaster as it plummets. Then, his pulse quickens at the confirmation that yes, this is happening, and no, this isn’t candid camera, and no random guy with a microphone will suddenly spring out of the adjacent cubicle and yell “Punked you!” at him.  Lastly, he feels his mind enter some sort of disconnect with the rest of his senses, and he just goes blank-eyed and slack-jawed. He’s only brought back to the present frame of reality when Sasabe clears his throat and taps his jaw closed with the back of a stapler.

Looking back at the paper, Makoto reads the name again, and studies the sample picture. Matsuoka Rin, Japan’s top male model. He has a swimmer’s build: broad shoulders, powerful, sculpted arms and narrow, well defined hips. Hair and eyes the colour of wine, flawless bone structure, and neat rows of uniquely sharp teeth that endeared him to the world of high fashion and spotlights.

“Congratulations, Mako-chan!" Nagisa crows, slinging an arm around Makoto’s shoulders as he peers into the paper in Makoto's hand. “Wow, what a big break! Be sure to tell us everything when you go to his place for the interview okay?”

“Wait what? I have to go to his _house_?” Makoto sputters.

“Yeah, he requested it. It’s his policy to interview his photographers before the actual shoot,” Sasabe replies. “He resides in one of the upscale condominiums in Ginza, so we’re letting you use Red Pizza for this excursion.”

The chief is letting him use Red Pizza, the company’s maroon Montero Sport, which he is terribly territorial over, and that's probably the most reliable benchmark of how crucial this assignment is.  “Wow okay, thanks chief,” is all Makoto can mumble, still reeling from the news. House calls are not really a standard procedure in his line of work; he usually meets his clients on site, with little fanfare. But Matsuoka Rin is certainly legitimate cause for exception.

“Just be careful with her okay, she’s my baby,” Sasabe says as he tosses him the keys; Makoto almost falls off his chair in order to catch them. “Anyway, no time for chit-chat, he’s expecting you in an hour.”

Makoto jaw drops, feeling his eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. “An hour?! Wait, I haven’t even prepared!” he protests, as he stands up from his seat. “A-and I’m not dressed properly!”

Sasabe waves this off. “You look fine,” he insists, as he takes Makoto's black trench coat and practically manhandles him into it. “You have no choice anyway. He's a very busy person, you know, you’re lucky you’re even meeting him to begin with.”

“But—”

“You can do it Mako-chan, I believe in you!” Nagisa adds, shoving Makoto’s camera bag into his arms and placing an orange beanie cap on his head. “Make us all proud!

“I have utmost confidence in you Makoto," Sasabe says, his eyes carrying the sort of emotional shimmering look of pride fathers of war heroes give their sons. "But in the off-chance that he ends up hating you and our agency, you’re fired." He then beams widely as he places Makoto's portfolio on top of his camera bag, before pushing him towards the exit. “But hey, no pressure!”

The door slams shut. An icy breeze passes by, ruffling the fluffy ball on the top of Makoto's wool beanie hat. Makoto shivers, unable to close his coat due to the bag and portfolio he’s carrying in his arms, and quickly trudges over towards the garage.

This morning, he went to work with his biggest worries revolving around deciding whether or not to include pet-friendly as a factor in his apartment choice, or if the stress-relieving benefits of a pet cat are worth the extra cost, and making sure his camera lens budget isn’t cutting into any of his bills.

Now he has less than an hour to convince Japan’s top supermodel that he made the right choice in choosing Makoto, failure of which would result to losing the only stable job he’s had for the past 3 years.

No pressure at all.

*

Makoto checks his equipment bag for the fifth time as he approaches the condominium unit 1880: Nikon D4S, his 50mm and 18mm lenses, flashes, all packed neatly in their individual compartments. His portfolio is tucked under his arm, the familiar weight of five years’ worth of work resting easy against his side. He sniffs himself for any untimely case of body odor— he took a shower this morning, and it’s snowing outside, but he’s so nervous, he’s pretty sure he’s working up a sweat just standing there.

Once he has finally collected himself, he raises his free arm to press the buzzer, only to halt midway when the door suddenly opens and a blast of warmth hits him.

“You’re Tachibana Makoto?”

Makoto blinks, his hand still raised up, and immediately feels his mouth run dry. Matsuoka Rin is standing before him, dressed in a slightly wrinkled black tank and ripped, low slung jeans, hair tousled and sticking out in ten different directions. He very much looks like someone who just woke up and literally rolled out of bed.

A bed made of pure sin and temptation that is, because god, if Matsuoka Rin isn’t the most gorgeous person Makoto has had the pleasure of sharing the same airspace with. The pictures he has seen don’t do him justice at all, and Makoto briefly wonders if this is why no photographer has ever lasted with him, because they all failed to capture all of this perfection.

 _His face really has perfect symmetry,_ Makoto thinks faintly. It takes all of his force of will to snap out of his star struck daze and he clears his throat, his arm dropping to the side. “Yes I am. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance Matsuoka-san, thank you for availing of my services.”

— Is what he’s supposed to say, but what actually comes out is:

“Did you just see me sniff— I mean, how did you know I was already here?”

Matsuoka points to a large LCD monitor on the wall of his foyer, which is split into four screens. “I’ve been watching you fuss over yourself for the past minute through the CCTV cameras,” he answers casually.

Makoto feels his face burn. How about that, he managed to embarrass himself before he’s even met his client. This has to be a new record or something. “Ohmygod, I’m so sorry,” he blabbers. “I didn’t realize...” 

His piteous stammering is cut off when Matsuoka just grins and steps closer, leaning right into Makoto’s space. “You smell fine, don’t worry,” he says cheekily, tilting his head, some strands of red hair brushing across Makoto’s shoulder.

Makoto wants to dig a hole in the ground and bury his head in it, which, while amusing, would probably be detrimental to his current objective of convincing Matsuoka Rin of the rightness of his choice of photographer. He can’t believe he put himself in a situation where Japan’s top supermodel actually _sniffed_ him. This day is getting more surreal by the moment.

He takes a deep breath and tries to calm his nerves. _Don’t mess this up, make a good impression, the whole company is riding on this job_ , he tells himself. “Thank you,” he manages to say. Good, he didn’t mess those two words up, no squeaking or stuttering, maybe he can actually string together a full sentence soon. “Anyway, um, yes I am Tachibana Makoto. I am pleasured—“ _oh darnit_ “—I mean, pleased to make your acquaintance, Matsuoka-san.”

Matsuoka just laughs, the sound of it rich and crisp, echoing across the wide hallway. He steps back. “You’re so nervous. Relax. I don’t bite.” He flashes Makoto a toothy grin, knife-sharp and summer-bright, and holds out his hand to shake, before softly adding: “Well, not too hard.”

Everything about this man is making Makoto want to enter osmosis with the floor. But he is a professional above all else, even in the face of flirtations from the most gorgeous man this side of Japan. So he straightens his back, extends his hand to shake Matsuoka’s…

… and drops the heavy portfolio under his arm right on Matsuoka’s unprotected foot.

*

Makoto hates horror movies with the passion he has for chocolate; he has a hyperactive imagination that feeds him an endless cache of gruesome images whenever he closes his eyes to sleep. He always manages to rationalize his fear away eventually, but the images in his brain pop up from time to time. It never really goes away.

Today though, his nightmare just became real for a few agonizing seconds— there’s blood, Matsuoka has really terrifying teeth, and Makoto very nearly screamed like someone about to get chopped to pieces by an axe murderer.

“I’m so sorry, Matsuoka-san,” Makoto blabbers for what must’ve been the tenth time in about as many minutes, as he frantically dabs antiseptic on the cut near Matsuoka’s ankle, caused by the corner of Makoto’s portfolio.  Makoto has never heard anyone curse so crisply in three different languages in rapid succession before— he recognized English and Japanese, but he didn’t have the luxury of finding out what the third one was, because he was too busy trying to make sure he didn't accidentally maim his biggest client.

Thankfully, after that initial bout of profanity, Matsuoka calmed down and graciously allowed Makoto to carry him to the couch for first aid treatment. “Tachibana, it’s just a cut, jeez, it’s far from lethal,” Matsuoka says, sounding exasperated though he allows Makoto to fuss over him just the same. “And please, if you’re going to keep saying my name, call me Rin, because Matsuoka-san is a mouthful, and I’m getting sick of it.”

Makoto nods and covers the cut with a large cat shaped band-aid from his personal first aid kit (a gift from his younger sister Ran), taking care not to press too deeply. Rin leans back against the arm of the couch, raises his injured foot and wiggles his toes. “Cute band-aid,” he remarks, and Makoto feels his face go cherry red for the nth time that day.

"It's from my little sister," he mumbles, as he turns away from Rin to clean up. He picks up the used cotton swabs with a tissue, throws them into the nearby trash can and stows his first aid kit bag into his bag.

“Be sure to wash your hands,” Rin tells him, and points towards the back of the apartment. “Bathroom’s that way, second door to the right.”

Makoto nods, and excuses himself to go wash his hands so as to avoid soiling Matsuoka’s pristine abode any further. The bathroom is luxurious, with a huge tub that can probably fit two people, a separate shower stall, and a full cupboard housing a large assortment of products, seemingly arranged by type and then by alphabetical order. He turns on the tap and washes his hands with cherry-blossom scented hand soap.

When he comes back to the living room, Rin is browsing his portfolio, pausing at some pages and chuckling, before flipping to the next one. He seems in a good enough mood for someone whose foot just got assaulted. Makoto internally debates if he should interrupt him or just quietly wait until he notices Makoto’s presence, when Rin takes the choice from his hands by speaking up.

“Don’t just stand there,” Rin says, not looking up from the page he’s perusing. “Take pictures.”

Makoto is taken aback. “Eh? Take pictures? Of what?”

“Of whatever you want,” Rin answers, in tones suggesting that he thought Makoto is being completely daft. He spares him a quick glance. “I want to see _how_ you work.”

“Oh right. Of course...” Bowing quickly, Makoto goes back to the table and fetches his equipment, feeling Rin’s eyes watching him all the way. After a brief internal debate, he chooses the 18mm lens, attaches it to his camera, and slings the thick cord around his neck.

“Okay, I’m going to start now so…" He quickly looks away when Rin casually strips off his jacket before lying back down on the couch. “Just pretend I’m not here,” he mumbles.

Rin snorts, and Makoto is stricken with embarrassment again, because of course Matsuoka Rin _would_ know how to go about his business while pretending a camera isn’t capturing his every move, he does this for _a living._

He takes a few test shots—the billowing of crème curtains, a skateboard propped up against the shoe rack, a box on the table holding several accessories. Rin makes a gesture for him to keep moving, so Makoto hurriedly obeys, moving around the condominium and taking various pictures of whatever suits his fancy. 

He takes candid shots of Rin too, as he lay on the couch, his tank top riding a bit higher, exposing a peek of his abs. He zooms in, takes a picture of Rin’s necklace, the shark tooth pendant resting on the groove of his sternum. He takes a picture of Rin’s feet, where three separate bands circle his ankles, the dark red and black of the design stark against the paleness of his skin.

A few moments later, Rin finally gets off the couch, and heads towards the kitchen. Rin just gestures for him to keep going so Makoto takes pictures of Rin preparing brunch. After a while, he realizes that Rin finished preparing _two_ separate pastrami sandwiches with a side of baked potato, placing them on mismatched red and green square plates. He allows himself a short moment of giddiness before moving to take pictures of the food too, hyper focusing the sandwich in the middle so that the background is a blur, making the dark pink of the meat and the greenness of the lettuce stand out.

When he’s done, Rin has just finished setting the table. Makoto’s stomach rumbles, and he blushes for the nth time that day. He skipped breakfast today because he was running late, so the sight of such a delicious-looking meal prepared for him by _the_ Matsuoka Rin sets off his nerves a little.  

“Done? Transfer the pictures here,” Rin says, handing him a sleek fire-engine red Toshiba laptop. Makoto fishes out the SD card from his camera, inserts it into the card slot, and transfers the files. The process takes a while. Makoto admits he may have been a bit too eager, taking pictures of basically anything that was isolated or had more than three colours, not to mention the many shots of Rin doing absolutely nothing. When the last picture is done transferring, he takes out his SD card and hands back the laptop to Rin.

“Great,” Rin says, as he takes it back with one hand while simultaneously pushing one of the pastrami plates into Makoto’s direction with the other. “Now eat, while I take a look at this.”

It takes a while for Makoto to take a bite out of his food, even though he’s really hungry, too nervous about Rin’s reactions to his work. He tries to look at other things while Rin browses the pictures, forcing his stomach nerves away, because the last thing he wants is to accidentally throw up in Rin’s pristine kitchen, which, considering his luck so far, isn’t a totally far-fetched point of concern.

By the time Rin finishes, Makoto is certain he has committed the placement of all the appliances in Rin’s kitchen to memory, as well as the geometric patterns of his kitchen tile. At least that's one thing he can easily regale Nagisa with.

“They’re really good,” Rin says, looking up from his laptop just as Makoto finally convinced himself to take a bite of his sandwich. “You have your passport?”

Makoto feels the familiar thud-thud-thump of his heart, hope and excitement warring inside him, and he nods, mouth too full of bread to give a verbal response.

Rin flashes him a gunmetal smile, hot, dangerous and irresistible, and Makoto’s stomach starts feeling funny again.

“Good. Pack your bags, we’re going to Australia.”

Makoto doesn’t throw up, but he does nearly choke on his pastrami. 

*

Two days after his and Rin’s meeting, Makoto is escorted into one of the VIP lounges of Narita airport, where Rin is waiting with the other models and studio staff.

Makoto is easy going and normally has no problem being around strangers, but even he is intimidated by the presence of several supremely gorgeous people in the same room. He feels so bland and uninteresting, even after he made the effort to look stylish, in his fur-lined green wool jacket with a dark orange scarf as accent.

“Makoto, this is Yamazaki Sousuke, my best friend. He just came back to the modelling scene recently, after recovering from a shoulder injury,” Rin says, introducing him to a tall, intimidating man with jet black hair, droopy teal eyes and shoulders so wide they look like they could bench press Makoto. “Sousuke, this is my new photographer, Tachibana Makoto.”

“Nice to meet you Yamazaki-san,” Makoto says smiling politely and holding out his hand.

Sousuke takes Makoto’s hand but doesn’t shake it, and just looks at Makoto with a piercing gaze that makes Makoto feel like he’s being judged for his worthiness to stand in their Aesir presence. “So,” he says, eyes narrowed. His grip tightens around Makoto hand. “You’re the guy who dropped a book on Rin’s foot and caused the wound on his ankle?”

Makoto’s smile freezes, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times as he frantically tries to come up with an answer that wouldn’t result to his fingers getting crushed.  “I, uh… well, yes but—“

He shuts his mouth abruptly, when Sousuke breaks into a smile and starts shaking Makoto’s hand with a firm but comfortable grip. “So tell me,” he says, mirth in his eyes. ”Did he cry?”

“You’re hilarious,” Rin grouses, as Sousuke laughs for real, letting go of Makoto’s hand when Rin punches him on the arm. “And no I didn’t. Tell him, Makoto.”

“No he didn’t,” Makoto agrees immediately, his mouth finally working properly, now that he no longer fears receiving an untimely career-ruining injury to his hand.

“And I’m not sure if you know him yet, but this is Shigino Kisumi,” Rin says, gesturing to the other model beside him. Unlike Sousuke, whose default intimidating aura makes him seem unapproachable, Kisumi seems to be the anthromorphication of sunset skies and cotton candy, with his faint pink hair, bright violet eyes and a beam light smile that can stun from afar.

“Hey hey, nice to meet you! Call me Kisumi okay?” Kisumi says, while shaking Makoto’s hand vigorously. “I like your name; it’s girly like Rin’s. Can I call you Makoto? ”

Makoto smiles back, instantly feeling more at ease. “Yes of course you may. And I recognize you; I have some of the advocacy magazines with your photos in it that I really liked.”

Kisumi’s eyes light up. “Really? Which one?”

“I liked Big Man, Little Man with your little brother,” Makoto replies, wondering how long this handshake is supposed to last. “I also liked the one with Kise Ryouta and the National Basketball team. The one where you both won best smile…”

Makoto trails off when Rin and Sousuke both groan out loud, with Rin shaking his head at Makoto and mouthing something along the lines of “you’re gonna get it now.” Kisumi on the other hand, looks like he’s about to explode with sheer glee. Makoto’s not sure which one he should be more worried about.

“You liked Ryouta? Ohmygod, he’s going to be so happy! I like you already!” Kisumi gushes, as he finally lets go of Makoto's hand only to sling an arm around him. “Let’s sit together on the plane! Here, you can just leave your stuff with one of the assistants—”

“—I’d rather keep my gear with me at all times, Kisumi,” Makoto interrupts politely, as he hugs his camera bag tighter to his body. It's not that he doesn't trust the staff; he just really worked hard for this camera and he feels safer knowing it’s always within his reach.

Kisumi smiles in understanding. “Ah, you’re one of those types huh? Well I—“ He’s interrupted by the sudden blare of a Korean pop song (something about genies, Makoto notes) and he hurriedly fishes his phone out of his pocket, looks at the caller ID and lights up. “Excuse me, I have to take this,” he says as he slips his arm off Makoto and walks away. “Hello, Hayato? Yes, I’m going away, but I’ll bring you lots of Tim Tams okay…”

Makoto eyes follow him, though his attention is quickly diverted when Rin comes up behind him and lays a hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry, we can’t save you from the inevitable Kise-is-the-only-one-who-understands-me spiel, you totally brought that up on your own,” he says solemnly, as if Makoto just signed his soul away to the devil.

“I suggest a few beers when you’re on the plane to help deal with it,” Sousuke adds.

“And speaking of drinks, whatever happens, never call Kisumi’s name when he’s drunk.”

“Also, never ever mention the kissapalooza fundraising event if you don’t want to feel mentally violated.“

All these random pieces of advice are awfully foreboding, but Makoto doesn’t have time to think about them too hard because Kisumi just finished his phone call, and is bounding over to them, his arm soon reclaiming its spot around Makoto’s shoulders. He reminds Makoto of Nagisa, only taller and more flighty, glamorous, and with much more expensive shoes.

Thirty minutes later, Kisumi is dragging Makoto to the front rows of the business class section of the plane while Rin and Sousuke take the seats behind them.

True enough, Kisumi nearly talks Makoto’s ear off about how he found one of his best friends in Kise Ryouta, and how a subsection of their fans have called their relationship Kisses squared, and how it’s super cool and clever. At Sousuke’s suggestion, Makoto then tries to distract Kisumi by showing him some pictures of cute cats from his camera, though he nearly gives Makoto a heart attack when he almost drops it on the floor in his excitement.

Overall, apart from these incidents, the plane ride goes smoothly, and soon, Makoto is taking his first step into Australian soil.

He takes a deep breath, letting the sounds and cacophony of this foreign metropolis wash through him, permeating his senses. He can’t help feeling that his life is about to change in a major way.

~tbc~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For MakoRin Week Day 4: _Touch_
> 
> Special thanks to [Isu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/isuilde) for looking this over!

The fashion shoot’s theme is animal magnetism and Rin is perfect for it in every sense of the word.

He, Sousuke and Kisumi have excellent visual chemistry. There are people who make love to the camera, but these three do not, for the camera begs and grovels for _their_ attention.They’re a neat package of different flavours— Sousuke is all power and a dark, mysterious grace; Kisumi is sun-bright and effortless charm. Rin is some sort of perfect balance to the two; he oozes sex appeal out of his pores, but he also has a mischievous side to him, even if a bit understated. It also must be noted that while Rin is the shortest among them, he’s definitely the one with the most commanding presence.

The director of the shoot is Ryugazaki Rei, a bespectacled young man with an eye for perfect forms and a manic obsession with beauty. Most directors Makoto had worked with have a natural inclination towards the creative aspect of their craft, but Rei defies convention. He has the heart of an artist but the mind of a mathematician, relying on cold, hard calculations to determine the best angles, the correct measure of spaces between lights and dampeners, and the right balance of lines and curves, all with terrifying accuracy.

The first day goes smoothly. Makoto and Rei work reasonably well together, once Makoto got used to Rei’s mild OC tendencies.

Road bumps arise on the second day however, when the more risqué segments of the photo-shoot come up. The settings and poses all involve a certain degree of skinship and visual intimacy between the models, and it's the first time Makoto has ever done something of this nature. The closest thing he had ever worked on before was a beach spread for teenagers, but even if that had much more exposed skin, it was comparatively tamer than _this._

Makoto focuses on the arching wing of Sousuke's clavicle, forcibly exposed by Rin's fingers on the low collar of his shirt, and Rin's sharp teeth bared over the curve of Sousuke's neck. The pose is so incredibly suggestive, it makes Makoto blush, but he squares his shoulders and soldiers on, snapping away.

On the other hand, Kisumi, Sousuke and Rin take to this part of the shoot like it’s natural, normal to them, having no qualms about their bodies being flush together, fingers hovering over questionable places. Rin in particular, is notorious for his improvisations, and while this is usually something that should be encouraged, Makoto also finds out that Rin has a tendency to take things to the extreme.

“Rin-san, I am touched by your enthusiasm, but this is taking the concept too far,” Rei says, in tones booming with disapproval.

Apart from improvisations, Rin is also notorious for being incredibly stubborn about the poses he thinks would bring out his best features.

“Too far?” Rin retorts, face lit up by that infamous, rebellious glower. Sousuke just sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, while Kisumi discreetly wanders off towards the coolers to get a drink. “You're the one who wanted a bold impression.”

Bold in this case may be putting it lightly. Rin’s proposed pose involves straddling Sousuke and yanking him up by the necktie, which while undeniably hot, isn’t really appropriate for their theme.

“If you're posing for an adult video maybe. The theme is animal magnetism, not animal husbandry,” Rei argues.

Rin's expression turns thunderous. "Are you suggesting that I look like a _slut?_ " he demands. Sousuke awkwardly shuffles his feet in his place, like he's regretting not following Kisumi. 

"I said no such thing. All I am saying is that we have an artistic vision to consider and your proposed pose is _not_ adhering to it."

“What artistic vision, you’ve been crunching numbers since we got here,” Rin scoffs, and then proceeds to mimic pushing up imaginary glasses. “Now see here, I’ve drawn some lines on the floor that contain pre-calculated angles designed to perfectly capture the light hitting off your right cheekbone; now stand over here, and tilt your head 15 degrees to the left.’ ”

Kisumi bursts out laughing, while Sousuke elbows Rin in the ribs and tells him, “Well you have to admit, it worked.”

“Shut up Sousuke, that’s not the point.”

Rei refuses to dignify that display of pantomime with a response and swiftly turns to Makoto. “Tachibana-san, please tell him,” he says.

Kisumi stops laughing. Startled, Makoto blinks when he feels all the eyes on the room fall on him. “Wait, I'm just the photographer..." he protests, holding his hands up weakly.

“Exactly, you’re the one capturing all this—tell him it’s utterly inappropriate!”

“Excuse you, just because you’re a stick in the mud that has no sense of daring doesn't mean anything that doesn’t meet your approval is wrong!”

"Makoto/Tachibana-San!" Two sets of heated expressions turn expectantly towards him.

Settling disputes between models and directors is so not in Makoto’s job description, much less highly temperamental specimens like Rin and Rei. But it’s been a long day, everyone’s been up since 6 AM, and if the burden of making sure they finish on schedule will fall on him, then Makoto has no choice but to deal. He closes his eyes, prays for strength and speaks. “Uh… Rei has a point.”

Makoto practically hears the rest of the room’s jaws drop open. It would seem that Rin wasn't expecting this betrayal too, if the way his eyes narrow is any indication.

“Not that I think it’s too outlandish or um, slutty. In fact, I think you look absolutely gorgeous Rin, of that there could be no doubt,” he hurriedly adds, almost trembling in relief when he sees Rin’s glare soften. “But… it’s not the right kind for this theme? I mean, we want to sell the clothes too. We need to draw attention to what you're wearing." He takes a deep breath as he mulls over his next words before speaking again. "We want to be _sensual,_ not sexual. 'Less is More' is applicable here so we can let the little gestures speak.”

Rin’s jaw is still set, but Makoto could sense reluctant agreement in his eyes. This is quickly refuted however, when Rin speaks up again. “And what are these little gestures you speak of?” he asks, a hint of a savage bite in his tone. “What is sensual to you? Show me.”

Makoto pales, clearly not expecting this. “I already explained how—“

“—I don’t want an explanation, I want a demonstration,” Rin interrupts. “Come over here, and _show_ me how to do it.”

“Rin…”

“Are you shy?" Rin folds his arms and cocks his head to the side. "I can tell them to leave.”

The atmosphere in the room suddenly becomes heavy and charged, almost electric, like the prelude to an anticipated game. Sousuke is smirking at Makoto like he's edible— not the sexy kind, but the "you are about to get your head bitten off and devoured" kind. Well at least someone is still following the theme.

Makoto takes a deep breath, and lets it out in one long exhale. “Alright,” he replies through gritted teeth. He rolls up his sleeves and walk over towards the centre of the spotlight, his gaze never breaking away from Rin's.

"Thanks for the impromptu break from the spotlight Makoto!" Kisumi chirps, as he drags Sousuke out of the way. His tone is cheerful but Makoto doesn't miss the look of intrigue in his eyes.

He stands in front of Rin, who is leaning against the wall, impertinence radiating out of his every pore. He then proceeds to take Rin’s folded arms, and rearrange them so that one of his hands is resting against his abs instead, and placing the other one on the pocket of Rin’s jeans.

“You're gonna do it like this? What am I, some kind of marionette?” Rin’s tone is cutting, condescending, but Makoto can feel an underlying hint of something akin to _thrill_ to it, as if he’s actually enjoying getting under Makoto’s skin.

Makoto refuses to let this get to him. "Do you have any particular preference of how we're going to go about this then?" he asks. 

“You said make it sensual?" Rin steps forward right into Makoto's space, his gaze alluring and predatory, drawing Makoto in. "Pretend they’re not in the room. Go on.”

Makoto has never realized how truly dangerous Matsuoka Rin is until that moment. But like a moth to a flame, Makoto couldn't resist anyway.

 _Pretend they’re not in the room huh?_ Makoto thinks, as he acknowledges Rin’s challenge with a short nod. “Permission to touch you?” he asks, his voice surprisingly steady.

Rin smirks. “I asked you to, didn’t I?”

Before his courage can flee, Makoto steps away from Rin, and walks to stand behind him. He leans forward, until his chest is brushing against Rin’s back, and then slips his arm around Rin’s waist to reach for his wrist.

The pads of his two fingers glide along Rin’s forearm, ghosting over the bump of the wrist, before laying his much larger hand on Rin’s. He leans his chin on Rin’s shoulder, and Rin turns his head slightly to glance at him.

“Is this okay?” Makoto asks softly.

“Yes,” Rin answers, and Makoto tries not to focus on how Rin sounds just a little bit breathless.

Putting his attention back on the task at hand, Makoto takes the bottom of Rin’s thin white shirt and lifts it, the light fabric dragging up Rin’s torso, brushing past his nipples, making Rin’s breath hitch a little. Makoto swallows hard, but his hand is steady when he feeds Rin the end of the shirt. Rin doesn’t hesitate as he bites down, his lips grazing Makoto’s fingers, and it’s all Makoto could do not to keep them from trembling.

The spotlight is hot and blinding, but it’s nothing compared to Rin. This up close, it’s not really difficult to forget that the rest of the room doesn’t exist when it takes all his concentration not to stare, not to lose himself in the powerful pull of Rin's very presence.

“Place your left hand, here…” he whispers, grasping Rin's hand and laying his palm flat across his stomach, feeling the muscles flex beneath their joined fingers. He spread Rin’s fingers apart, so that they starfish against Rin’s abs, before taking Rin’s other hand and hooking his thumb inside the pocket of his jeans.

Makoto wonders if Rin can feel the weight of Makoto’s desire on the palm of his hand; wonders how many others have felt this pull. Rin said to pretend that they're alone; if Makoto just moves his chin just a little bit up, he could brush his lips along the curve of Rin's perfect cheekbone and pretend it's an accident, just to see what Rin would do. There’s really no denying it: Rin is beautiful, rose and ivory swathed in silk and satin. For someone like Makoto, who is the embodiment of ordinary, it feels like a lot like facing gravity, where every moment one must either fight or fall.

Either way, Makoto is smitten. But then again, this isn’t anything unusual. There is no shame to getting drawn to someone who makes a career out of being attractive.

A camera (not his) flashes to their right, and it snaps Makoto right out of his daze. Without another word, he quickly disentangles himself from Rin and walks back towards his camera, pulse roaring in his ears.

He steps around Kisumi who beams widely at him while hurriedly hiding his phone behind his back “Are you convinced?” he asks, busying himself with re-adjusting the settings on his camera, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

Another stretch of charged silence occurs before he hears Rin reply.

"I guess," is all he says, his tone nonchalant and dismissive, though Makoto doesn't miss the intensity in his eyes when he risks a quick glance up to look at him. 

Flustered, Makoto takes a moment to collect himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Alright," he says after a while, with newfound confidence. "Shall we take it from the top, Rei?"

"Absolutely. Places everyone!" Rei orders.

The entire crew immediately goes back to their places, and Makoto earns himself several more curious glances. From the corner of his eye, he notices Sousuke and Kisumi share a look. It's obvious that all this attention has something to do with Rin's seemingly unusual acquiescence to him, but he pushes it to the back of his mind and focuses on his job, determined to milk Rin’s amicable mood for all its worth.

They finish without another incident.

*

After the shoot, Makoto excuses himself and quickly retires to one of the staff lounges, wanting to review his shots and look for anything that may require digital enhancements. Tablet on his right, a double chocolate latte on his left, he turns on his laptop and begins to work.

Five minutes later, just as Makoto has spotted some discolouration from one of the cream curtain backgrounds used in the shoot, the lounge door opens and someone walks in.

Makoto doesn’t look up at first, far too engrossed in correcting his pictures, until he catches a glimpse of red and black anklets, as the person walks by him. Unable to help himself, he turns around and sees Rin heading over towards the coffee machine at the back. Rin doesn’t look at him nor does he say anything, which, Makoto has to admit, stings a little, but Rin is responsible for his pay check so he has no right to complain.

So Makoto goes back to his pictures, and tries to will away the sudden onset of tension with a long sip of his coffee. The scratchy, whirring sounds of the coffee machine fill the spaces of silence, and Makoto picks up his pen, zooms in to the discolouration and starts to manually retouch it.

He's interrupted by the scrape of the chair next to him as it's pulled off the table, and summarily occupied by Rin, a cup of piping hot black coffee in hand. He doesn’t look at Makoto, but he leans close, their shoulders brushing. Makoto realizes after a beat that Rin is silently asking to browse the pictures with him. 

It’s the closest thing to a truce he’ll ever get, and Makoto welcomes it gladly.

“Watching me work?” he asks keeping his tone light, trying to diffuse whatever tension there is remaining.

Turns out he doesn’t need to, because Rin just moves closer, until his thigh is practically in line with Makoto’s.  “Mmm. Something like that,” he replies and doesn't add any explanation.

Makoto nods and tries not to think about the press of Rin’s skin against his, as he goes back to his work.

For the next twenty minutes, they browse the pictures together, with Rin making occasional side comments. When they get to the set of Rin biting the edge of his shirt, Makoto clearly hears the pleased hum issuing past Rin's lips, his breath fluttering the hair over Makoto’s ear.

“Good job,” Rin says quietly, when Makoto reaches the end. He then stands up, and Makoto sucks in a sharp breath when the tips of Rin’s fingers land on his shoulder and run lightly across the expanse of his nape, before Rin turns on his heel and walks out the same way he came.

Makoto keeps his gaze on the door long after it has already swung shut. Then he reaches for the back of his neck, feeling for the spots of heat where Rin’s fingers touched, and exhales.

*

On the last day of the shoot, they were allowed to let loose and enjoy the rest of their stay in Australia's hot summer before heading home to cold Japan, so both models and production staff happily dove into the waves. Everyone except Makoto that is. It’s not that he’s shy about mingling with people outside of a professional environment. He actually made a few friends from the shoot—Rei, the director in particular had promised to get in touch with him more since he's 'the only person that diva Rin actually listened to.'

It’s just that he has some past trauma with the ocean, a lingering fear that he hasn't really shaken off.  One of the people he was fond of in his childhood, an old fisherman who gave Makoto his first pet goldfish, perished in an accident at sea, and Makoto had been wary of oceans since.

He stays back, camera in hand, taking pictures of Rin swimming, Sousuke surfing, and Kisumi flitting between the two of them like a sprightly butterfly. 

He runs out of space at one point, and he frowns. Darn, he knew he should’ve upgraded to a 32 GB card before leaving Japan. He starts scrolling back for pictures he thinks he can delete when a shadow looms over him, and several drops of water land on his LCD screen.

He looks up, sees Rin glowering at him, salt water dripping down his hair.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks.

Makoto hastily grabs a microfiber cloth from his bag and wipes his camera. “Taking pictures?” he answers meekly, holding his camera to his chest and far away from the path of stray water droplets.

“You’ve been taking pictures for the past two days. You’re off-duty now. You’re supposed to be joining us on the beach.”

Makoto swallows. “… It’s okay, I don’t really mind.”

“I mind,” Rin retorts. He kneels on the beach towel and starts tugging at the hem of Makoto’s shirt, looking almost petulant. “Put your camera back, you don’t want sand to get in do you?”

Makoto blanches and hastily puts his equipment back into the bag. As soon as he’s done securing the combination, Rin pulls him to his feet with surprising strength and starts dragging him towards the waves.

Panicking, Makoto plants his feet firmly into the sand, and resists. “Wait, I’m still wearing my shirt!”

“Then take it off!”

Makoto is suddenly hit with a wave of self-consciousness. It’s not that he thinks he's shabby looking— he works out three times a week at the gym, and goes swimming with Haru every weekend. But he’s always been body shy, and the fact that there’s a world-class supermodel waiting impatiently for him to strip isn’t really helping.

“Come on, take it off,” Rin cajoles, pushing Makoto lightly when Makoto doesn’t move. “Don’t make me do it for you.”

This only makes Makoto even more embarrassed so he quickly turns around, ignoring Rin’s scoffing. He grabs the scruff of his shirt from behind before pulling the rest off quickly, thanking all the deities above that he didn’t do something stupid like accidentally getting lost in the tangles of his sleeves while removing his shirt. He starts to turn around, but before he can do so, Rin’s hands are on his back, and soon, he feels the thick wet texture of sunscreen being smeared across his skin.

“You work out,” Rin observes, as he continues spreading the sunscreen across Makoto’s back.

"Yeah," Makoto confirms softly. Rin's hands travel down, gliding over the small of his back, thumbs digging lightly into dips of muscle, and Makoto almost lets out a gasp at how amazing it feels. He's sure that Rin can sense the warmth radiating from his skin but he stays his ground, revelling in the feel of Rin’s hands on his body. His mind flashes back to their confrontation yesterday, remembering very specific details: the lilt in Rin’s voice when he challenged Makoto in front of everyone, the scorching heat of the spotlight lying heavy over their skins, the way Rin's pulse fluttered beneath the pads of his fingers.

When Rin is finally done, Makoto takes a deep breath and turns around. Rin’s hands may no longer be touching Makoto, but his gaze is still heavy on Makoto’s skin, appraising him, judging him. The amazing feeling immediately dissolves somewhere in his stomach, and instinctively, Makoto hunches his shoulders and crosses his arms across his chest

“Don’t do that,” Rin orders. “Straighten your back, hands to the side, shoulders rolled out.”

Shocked and embarrassed, Makoto does as he’s told, forcing his arms away from his chest, exposing his body fully to the world. He has no idea what Rin is trying to do really—Makoto’s too bulky, too broad, and his skin tone is uneven, beneath notice. Makoto already knows he cannot even hold a candle to Rin’s perfection, but does Rin have to make him feel so bad about it? He begins to regret ever defying Rin in the first place.

Rin looks him up from top to toe and shakes his head. “Damn. With a body like that, what are you doing behind the camera?”

Makoto’s jaw drops open. “What?”

“Ever had an interest in modelling?” Rin repeats, his tone matter-of-fact, with no trace of mockery in it.  

Upon ascertaining for himself that yes, _the_ supermodel Rin is not disappointed with his body and is in fact, _impressed_ by it, Makoto can’t help beaming. “I prefer taking pictures than being in them,” he answers. Feeling more confident, he takes the sunscreen from Rin’s hand and starts applying them on his arms and torso and concentrates on not looking too giddy about basking in Rin’s attention. “Besides, it takes more than a nice body to model.”

Rin smiles wryly. “That’s true. Confidence can be instilled though.”

Makoto is vehemently not equipped to receiving such lofty praise from his most high-profile client, but he manages to stomp down the urge to grin stupidly all the same. “Thank you, but I really do enjoy being a photographer."

Rin shrugs. “Well okay I guess. If you change your mind, let me know, I’ll put in a good word for you.” He takes back the bottle of sunscreen from Makoto’s hand and carelessly tosses it towards one of the piles of sundry belongings spread on a towel on the sand. “Can we go into the water now?”

Makoto looks at the waves, at the people having fun, then back at Rin. “Okay.”

“Great.” Rin wastes no time and grabs Makoto’s hand, dragging him towards the ocean. The water is warm, but the waves, while not that huge, are quite strong, hitting them in great frothy bursts. They go deeper, Makoto's toes digging into the sand with every step. A stray piece of seaweed slithers up his leg and he yelps, a familiar bubble of panic seizing his chest.

Rin whips around. "What's wrong?"

Makoto struggles to get his syllables in order. “Can I just stay near the shore?” he asks quietly, shivering as the water reaches his chest.

“Why, are you scared of the ocean?” Rin asks, raising an eyebrow. When Makoto bites his lip and doesn’t answer, Rin’s eyes widen, and he drops Makoto’s hand. “Sorry… I didn’t know.”

“It just holds bad memories that’s all,” Makoto says quickly, not wanting Rin to worry. “I’ve gotten over it. I just need to psyche myself up beforehand.”

Rin nods, though he doesn’t seem too satisfied with Makoto’s answer. “Can you swim though?”

“Oh yeah, regularly. In a pool. Never in the open water though.” Makoto doesn't miss the way Rin’s mouth drooped into what Makoto’s sure Rin will deny is a pout, disappointment clear in his eyes.

It’s enough for Makoto’s massive, built-in guilt-complex to kick in and he finds himself immediately backtracking. "What am I saying, I'm being silly,” he blurts out. “Never mind what I said, I can't possibly drown with all these people surrounding me."

Rin shakes his head. “I don’t want to force you if it’ll make you uncomfortable,” he insists. “It’s okay, we can just chill on the beach.”

“No really, it’s okay!” Makoto protests. “It’s just a silly fear. I’ll get over it, I promise.”

Rin’s eyes are still a little skeptical. “Are you sure?”

Makoto nods. “Positive,” he answers, his voice now powered more by real confidence than bravado.

Rin notices this, and the reluctance in his gaze fades into an encouraging smile, which Makoto thinks is enough to make this whole ordeal worth it. “Alright,” he says, as they wade deeper into the water. “I was a swimming champion back in high school, so you don’t have to worry about having someone to save you.”

“Yeah,” Makoto agrees, blushing a little with how Rin’s grip has gotten a lot tighter around his wrists. “I uh, figured you were a swimmer from your body type.”

Rin’s smile turns playful, teasing. “Oh so you _were_ checking me out huh?”

“It’s an unavoidable task when putting you on the focus of my camera,” Makoto replies smoothly, surprising himself with the ease of which the words came to him.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh it’s not. It's the opposite actually, I’m really enjoying my job a lot.”

“You’d better be, I took you to the beach in the middle of winter,” Rin huffs. “You’re not going back to Japan without rocking a tan, you hear?”

Makoto laughs, feeling much more relaxed. “I hear, I hear.”

Rin’s eyes become just a little bit brighter, the sunlight reflecting off the water droplets on his eyelashes. “Good,” he says. He doesn’t say anything more, but he keeps his eyes on Makoto, as if reassuring him that he's not going anywhere. Which is just as well, because Makoto can't look away, no matter how hard he tries. The sun is hot above them, but Rin’s gaze is hotter, and Makoto can feel it scorching across his skin, reminding him of the glare of spotlights, hyper focused, blinding.

That’s when Makoto realizes that they’re come way deep into the sea, and they're already treading water. He didn’t even notice it happening; he was too distracted talking to Rin. Makoto wonders if this has been Rin's plan all along.

“Are you still scared?” Rin asks, his voice a low quiet murmur against the subtle trill of the sea breeze.

Makoto shakes his head. Any reflexive attempt of his body to panic has already fled, allowing itself to be buoyed by the water, feet moving from muscle memory. He smiles gratefully at Rin. “Not when I’m with you.”

It was a bold statement, one Makoto is definitely not accustomed to saying, but the way Rin’s eyes widen a little before softening gives him courage. It’s hard to think of his fears when Rin is looking at him like that, like he’s really happy to share this moment with Makoto. Makoto knows it’s a feeling likely brought about by everyone’s collective high from the success of their recent work, but just once, Makoto wants to pretend that this moment is theirs, and theirs alone.

Then Sousuke comes out of nowhere and tackles Rin at the same time Kisumi pounces on Makoto, and the moment is broken.

~tbc~


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [attemptsonwords](http://archiveofourown.org/users/attemptsonwords) for the beta!

Makoto sends the pictures to the respective magazines when he gets back home.

He keeps some of Rin’s more candid shots, like the one where he flopped on a surfboard, or the one where Rin was eating a watermelon popsicle, his lips stained red with juice, or the shot of him kicking and screaming while being held back by Sousuke as Kisumi threatens to put a huge pink starfish on his face. Those he carefully backs up before sending to Rin's personal email.

Half an hour later, Rin replies with an email telling him to never open anything from the senders  “surfer_ssk@mail.yahoo.co.jp” and “kissme_candy@excite.co.jp,” citing suspicious malware activity. Five minutes later, he receives emails from both, one containing a shot of Rin pulling Makoto into the ocean, and the other containing a shot of Rin handing Makoto a chocolate soft-serve cone. The pictures are quite good, for smartphone quality. Makoto is particularly fond of the second picture sent by Kisumi. It reflects the sky at sunset with Makoto and Rin silhouetted against the sun, surrounded by a pastiche of colours, giving the picture the atmosphere of an impressionist painting.

Makoto feels an unfamiliar tingle in his bones, similar to the feeling of capturing lightning with a snap of his shutter. He replies to them separately with thanks, before saving the pictures into his “others” folder, which contains all his favourite photos.  

The last addition to this folder is a stolen shot, one with a bare-faced, shirtless Rin looking at his phone with a soft smile on his face. He looks like every photographer’s dream, sea breeze-tousled burgundy strands thrown in sharp relief under the setting sun, his skin glowing bronze, orange-gold light wrapping around him like a fist. It’s the only picture he didn’t send to Rin. He feels a bit guilty, keeping it to himself, but he feels that he’s earned this, and it’s not like Rin will ever find out.

He does wonder what made Rin smile so softly like that, or who.

*

True to Rin’s word, he does come back to Iwatobi Studios sporting a tan, much to the envy and bewilderment of his colleagues and co-workers who are all bundled up from the mid-January frost.

That’s not all he’s sporting though. He can’t stop smiling and there’s a definite spring in his step as he walks to his cubicle. The high from his last assignment hasn't faded yet, and he just feels so pumped up that he almost runs smack into someone when he rounds the corner towards his table.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, stumbling back.

The chief is standing in front of his cubicle, arms folded, looking solemn. “Makoto.”

Makoto’s smile falters. That's when he notices the sudden silence in the room and the fact that everyone has dropped what they're doing to stare at him. Even the near constant sounds of the photocopier have stopped.

He swallows, trying for a look of outward calm even as he's beginning to freak out inside. _Oh no, they probably hated the pictures..._ he thinks, panicking. Maybe Rin's just too nice to personally tell him he sucks—crap, he probably should have never sent him the pic with the starfish! Maybe Sasabe is here at his cubicle because he's about to throw out Makoto’s personal belongings and slap a paper for dishonourable discharge on his face—

He takes a deep, calming breath. “Yes?” he manages to squeak out.

Sasabe's expression hasn't changed. “About your last assignment."

Before Makoto can attempt to bow down to the floor and beg to keep his job, a blond whirlwind of sugar-boosted energy crashes against him, and he suddenly finds himself with an armful of Nagisa.

“Mako-chan, ohmygod there you are! Congratulations!”

Makoto tries to catch his breath despite the arms wrapped around his neck. “Congratulations for what?”

Nagisa beams. “Rin-chan liked your work so much he wants you to do the rest of his projects for the year!”

Makoto’s knees suddenly feel like cooked pasta.

“Here’s your bonus,” Sasabe says with a huge grin, handing over a check, and Makoto nearly does a double take when he sees the figures. “Now come treat us all to pizza!”

Makoto, giddy with happiness, nods, and the whole office cheers.

*

The thing with Rin is that Makoto only ever interacts with him whenever there’s a job. And Makoto’s okay with that, really, because he reasons that whatever attraction he feels for Rin is probably a standard effect of constantly being within close proximity of him. Rin's one of the top models of Japan; his job is to _be_ attractive, so it’s really not that surprising that Makoto would feel a little cliché flutter every time Rin crosses his path. In fact, there are probably thousands of people already admiring Rin from afar, and Makoto is actually luckier than most, considering the tentative friendship he has managed to form with Rin in the brief amount of time he got to know him.

What he feels is nothing special, and it’s for everyone’s best interests that it stays that way.

It’s nearing the end of winter when the heater in Makoto’s apartment breaks down for the nth time while he’s finishing some coding for his web portfolio, which prompts him to take refuge in his best friend Haru’s studio (and mooch off his internet connection and food).

"You'll be working with Rin a lot more now huh?" Haru says conversationally, as he holds out his hand.

Makoto hands over Haru’s blue and green watercolour palete. “Um, yeah. He booked me for the rest of the year."

Haru lets out a casual ‘hmmm’ as he places his palette on the table and dips his brush in water. “You must’ve made a good first impression.”

Makoto groans, and slaps his hands over his face, the memory of that moment still humiliatingly fresh in his brain. “When I first met him, I dropped my portfolio on his foot and made him bleed.”

“Really now?” Haru says nonchalantly, though Makoto doesn’t miss the amused smile on his face when he peeks through the gap between his fingers. 

“It’s not funny Haru,” Makoto whines, as he puts his hands back on his laptop and goes back to his coding. “Thankfully he was nice about it. He even fed me a sandwich. And took me to Australia. And made me feel safe swimming in the ocean."

“Hmm. He sounds good for you. I approve."

Makoto can't quite help the blush spreading across his face at Haru's bluntness. "Haru!"

"What?"

"He's good _to_ me," Makoto corrects. He studiously goes back to checking if his coding changes have been reflected, ignoring the heat staining his neck.  "He's my client Haru, come on."

"So? You like him don't you?"

"No I don’t!"

Haru lets out an uncharacteristic snort, which pretty much tells Makoto what he thinks of _that,_ and Makoto sighs, wondering why he even bothers, knowing full well that Haru is the last person he could ever hope to fool.  

"Okay, maybe a little," he admits. "But it doesn't matter because we're never going to happen."

Haru gives him a long, judging look before going back to his painting. "I remember something Ama-sensei once told us in high school. You miss 100% of the shots you never make."

"Yes well, I also remember something my boss Sasabe told me: Don't shit where you eat."

Haru flicks some (thankfully clean) water in Makoto’s direction. "You cursed,” he explains when Makoto sputters and glares while wiping at his face. “Three days with the guy and he already rubbed off on you."

“You know, I liked you better when you were ignoring me,” Makoto mutters, pouting piteously as he throws the wet paper towel into the trash bin. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“How is me supporting you _not_ being on your side?”

“Because you’re not supposed to encourage me!”

“Why won’t I? From what you told me, he’s been nothing but nice to you.”

Makoto chuckles weakly. “Because he’s Matsuoka Rin, and I’m just some nobody whose feelings don’t matter anyway.”

At this, Haru completely stops what he’s doing and actually puts down his brush to look sideways at him, his eyes so terrifyingly earnest. “Makoto. You should know by now that I am the last person who will ever invalidate your feelings.”

Makoto swallows, suddenly filled with deep shame. “I know…” he mumbles. He removes his glasses, and tiredly rubs at his eyes.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”

The truth is, Makoto owes the first crucial leg of his photography career to Haru, who got roped into the business when agencies saw Makoto’s portfolio, for which Haru was one of the main subjects when he was first starting out. Haru never had any intentions of modelling as a profession— he’s temperamentally not suited for something so high-profile and public. Like Makoto, he preferred capturing beauty than being its subject, and his true love is traditional art.

However, one of the modelling agencies took a liking to Haru’s “natural grace and beauty,” and offered him a contract, renewable on an annual basis. At Makoto’s pleading, he agreed, but on the condition that only Makoto was allowed to take his pictures, and that's how Makoto scored his first real gig.

Once Makoto had established a stable footing and finally got himself a permanent job at Iwatobi Photography Studios, Haru quit the modelling scene after his contract was done. He made a decent amount of money and connections during his brief stint, so he was able to afford the things he needed to kick-start a career in art.

He still models sometimes when Makoto needs fresh material for his portfolio or when he needs extra cash, but for the most part, he’s doing well. 

Haru just nods in response and goes back to his painting. He doesn’t press the issue, and Makoto is grateful for that. For the next few minutes, he and Haru go about their usual routine, working quietly on their individual work tasks.

As he conducts the QC checks for his website, Makoto comes across the picture that got him noticed by the agencies: daybreak at Shirahama beach in Izu, with Haru emerging from the ocean, surrounded by frothing waves.  It’s a result of perfect timing and Mother Nature being cooperative— the waves hit the shore at just the right height, covering Haru from the waist down, making him look like some long-lost naked water god.

A thought crosses Makoto’s mind. “Hey Haru?”

“Hmm?”

“You met him right? During some of your freelance gigs when you were still modelling?”

“Yeah,” Haru says, eyes never leaving his painting.  “I did.”

“So what do you think of him?”

Haru pauses as he thinks for a bit, staring at the canvas like it holds the answers. “He’s one of _those_ people,” he starts, as he makes quick shallow strokes of white on his canvas, bubbly foam unfurling on the blue of his waves. “When he’s in the room, it’s like the light doesn’t matter anymore.”

Makoto feels himself smiling. It’s rare when Haru openly praises someone, much less in such poetic terms. Rin really is something else.

Haru notices him smiling and promptly scowls. “By that I mean, he’s way too flashy and has an ego the size of Jupiter,” he adds with a huff, and goes back to adding more splashes to his beach painting.

Makoto smothers a laugh behind his hand. “He’s not that bad!”

“Makoto, he insists his shark teeth give him license to get away with wearing five different animal prints at the same time.”

Makoto just nods absently as the gears start turning in his head. If even aloof, unflappable Haru can say this about Rin, then it just confirms that what Makoto is feeling is something perfectly _normal,_ and nothing he should worry too much about. Whatever this is, it’s something that he can safely tuck inside the chambers of his heart until it bleeds out of him eventually when he and Rin part ways, moving on to the next step in their respective careers. 

It also helps that he’s already well-versed in the art of keeping what he wants to himself. As long as he always keeps in mind that Rin is his client,  and _only_ his client, he’s good, and more importantly, _safe._

*

 

Their next project is a local one, in Okinawa, for the spring collection of Uniqlo.

The shoot needs to take place at exactly 7AM, which means Makoto and Rin have been up since 5AM. Makoto is so not used to early mornings but Rin had personally ensured Makoto's punctuality by making him roommates with Kisumi, whose alarm ringtone just so happened to be a medley of the loudest, most obnoxiously auto-tuned K-pop songs, ringing out in decibels that made Makoto feel like his ears were getting violated by an electric toothbrush.

All preparations were going well, until one of the frazzled, sleep-deprived make-up artists zoned out and accidentally poured half a bottle of liquid foundation on Makoto’s white shirt with 15 minutes left until call time.

Waving off her apologies, Makoto follows Rin into one of the trailer dressing rooms to find something to wear on short notice. Rin quickly rifles through the closet and pulls out one of the items. “Here, this should fit you.”

Makoto thanks him as he strips out of his long-sleeved polo and grabs the black turtleneck from Rin’s hand.

He hears Rin swear under his breath. “Seriously, why are you not modelling again?” 

“I told you, I prefer taking pictures. Besides, prolonged exposure under spotlights scare me,” Makoto admits with a nervous laugh as he pulls on the turtle neck. It’s snug, but not uncomfortably so, the lycra hugging the expanse of his back in just the right ways. “I mean, I don’t mind being behind it, I just don’t want to be _in_ it.”

Rin scoffs and heads over to a nearby cooler, bending down to grab some drinks. Makoto bites his lip to keep himself from sighing appreciatively at the sight of the dark material of Rin’s jeans stretching indecently over the curve of his ass. “You’re so scared of so many things,” Rin says, as he stands up— much too soon, in Makoto’s opinion— and tosses a can of milk coffee in Makoto’s direction. “What _doesn’t_ scare you?”

Makoto catches the drink effortlessly with one hand and joins Rin on the couch as he ponders the question. He looks up thoughtfully at the ceiling, taking a sip from his coffee before answering. “Hmm, let’s see. There’s kittens, my best friend Haru, Japanese literature, cameras and…” He averts his gaze from the ceiling as he simultaneously shifts in his seat, legs swinging sideways to glance at Rin.

Rin mirrors him, his eyes gleaming with a mix of challenge and curiosity. “And?”

Makoto cocks his head to the side and smiles. “And you.”

“Oh? That’s a first.” The tone of Rin’s voice suddenly goes an octave lower, and he sidles closer, inching his way into Makoto’s side of the couch. “That’s unwise. Because you should be.”

“Oh?” Makoto is feeling a bit bold today, and moves forward as well, as casually as he can, even as he feels the familiar rush of blood through his veins, his pulse picking up speed. He just _knows_ he’s playing in dangerous waters, but danger is ever so attractive where Rin is involved.  “Why should I?”

Still not breaking eye contact, Rin takes another long gulp of his sports drink, lips closing around the tip in a seriously distracting way. “I can get really scary when it comes to… certain things.”

“Like?”

“Like… getting what I want.”

There’s a gleam in Rin’s eyes that makes Makoto’s control fizzle a little, but he catches himself just in time and stands his ground. _Professional_ , he reminds himself. _Don’t shit where you eat._

“And I’ll have you know, Makoto,” Rin continues when Makoto doesn’t answer right away. Slowly, he further shortens the distance between them, his hand sliding a bit to rest between their thighs. His lips are still wet from the drink, and when he speaks, his voice is low, just a tad breathless, in a way that is almost measured. “I _always_ get what I want.”

It’s as if someone put a scrambler on the soundtrack of Makoto’s life, because all background noise just disappears, bleeds into nothing, and all he can hear is Rin’s quiet breathing and the frantic drumbeat of his own heart. He’s acutely aware of the space between their fingers, and how the racks of clothes and shoes behind Rin seem to blur, like a Bokeh effect, selective focus, with Rin being the only distinguishable object in the frame of Makoto’s vision. He feels the skin of his neck grow hot, almost stifling, as his body reacts to the familiar pull of Rin’s gravity. He knows he needs to resist but right now, resisting seems like the silliest thing in the world. 

“Really?” he finds himself whispering back, daring to move his hand, so that only the tip of his forefinger is brushing against the side of Rin’s wrist. Such a simple touch, such a slight physical contact, and yet Makoto feels it in every one of his bones. "And what do you want now?"

As soon as the words leaves his lips, Makoto feels the atmosphere in the room shift and Rin grins coyly, like he knows Makoto just played right into his hands. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

Ah, so that’s how it is then. He should have known Rin would not make this easy. There’s a voice in Makoto’s head reminding him that indulging Rin at his best game is a terrible idea but it sounds like it’s speaking to him from under huge boulders, eclipsed by the overwhelming need to respond to the challenge in Rin’s stare.

And so, with a beatific smile on his face, Makoto leans back ever so slightly, tilting his head away from Rin while still meeting his gaze. "What makes you think I want anything?"

"Everybody wants something."

"True. But not everyone can get what they want as easily as you. So it’s easier to just not want anything."

At this, Rin’s brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

It takes all of Makoto’s willpower to move his hand away from Rin’s, curling it demurely on his lap as he moves further back, putting more space between them. “Ordinary people like me usually have to _ask_ for what we want,” he answers, keeping his tone light, just this side of teasing. “As much as I’d like to believe there isn’t, there’s a shortage of generous people in the world. I learned early on that I cannot afford to want too many things."

Rin doesn't reply right away. He leans back, putting down his drink, looking pensive. “Oh,” is all he says, but his tone belies confusion, and that’s when Makoto knows he caught Rin off-guard, twisting the game in his favour. Which is a _good thing._

Isn’t it?

Rin bites his lip, and while Makoto finds the gesture insanely attractive, he also knows that this is a sign of Rin becoming uneasy, and that is one of the last things Makoto ever wants Rin to feel around him.

“But I digress,” he hurriedly says, going back to their topic, hoping Rin would see this as the concession Makoto wants it to be. “What do _you_ want, Rin?”

Rin’s eyes flicker up to meet his, and his gaze is so disarmingly direct, Makoto can feel it like a physical thing wrapping around his heart. He opens his mouth to reply, but before he can do so, the door slams open and Makoto nearly jumps off his seat.

Sousuke is looming at them from the doorway, glaring sternly. “What are you both doing here, the shoot is about to start in five minutes."

Like a switch, Rin's flustered expression dissolves, morphing into one of cool outward calm. He slowly stands up, and brushes off some invisible dust on his pants. “I had to find him some clothes because one of the staff ruined his shirt.”

“You could have just borrowed from me you know.”

“Oh yeah, sorry. Slipped my mind,” Rin answers distractedly. He pauses for a bit, before turning to tug at Makoto's arm. ”Let’s go Makoto.”

There is no way Makoto can just go back to acting normally around Rin after what just happened. Pulse still pounding in his veins, he shakes his head and pulls his hand back. “You go ahead, I’m going to see if I can still salvage this shirt,” he says, gesturing to his ruined button down, hoping Rin won’t see how hard his hand is trembling. “I’ll be there soon, I promise.”

Rin gives Makoto a searching look and Makoto stubbornly keeps his eyes on the shirt in his hands. Finally, Rin shrugs and turns around to walk back towards the studio with Sousuke, saying nothing more.

Makoto exhales and watches Rin leave, gaze fixated on the straight line of his back and the hypnotic swagger of his gait, like there's music playing in his mind. He stares long enough for the image to sear itself into his brain, until he no longer needs a camera to immortalize it.

That’s what he forces himself to keep in his memories, the image of Rin walking away.  


*

It has become increasingly hard to stick to his rule after that incident. The most dangerous thing that happened in that dressing room is that Makoto actually found it in himself to believe that Rin could possibly want him back that way, and that is the last thing he ever wants to dwell on. Just even a smidgen of hope is already too much.

He knows keeping his distance is going to be hard, but he takes comfort in the fact that it’s not impossible. Makoto is a veteran when it comes to emotional endurance. As he long as he keeps this to himself, he’ll be okay.

Still, these are times when he catches himself thinking about kissing Rin, running a knuckle across his cheek and just swooping in. It’ll be easy too, a quick brush of his lips, feather light, just to see if there’s anything behind the way Rin looks at him when they’re alone.

But he won’t, he can’t, he shouldn’t. He can’t afford to cross that line.

After all, Makoto knows all too well, that once you taste perfection, once will not be enough.

*

Of course, life has a way of taking unprecedented turns, and the one thing Makoto has always thought would never happen, happens.

He’s been staring at his phone for about 30 seconds now, repeatedly reading a text from Rin.

 **M. Rin:** So hey, Kisumi’s throwing a party at his house this coming Saturday night, wanna go?”

He wipes away the gross sweat on his phone screen (when did his hands become so clammy?) as he debates on what to reply. _Maybe this is a wrong send,_ he thinks. Yeah that’s probably it. Both Tachibana and Makoto are fairly common names, maybe this is meant for someone else.

 _Like a secret girlfriend or something._ Makoto quickly ignores the slight tightening in his chest at that thought, and refocuses on the message. Only one way to find out. He quickly types:

> **T. Makoto:** Hi Rin, are you sure this text is meant for me?

Just when he’s about to hit send, he gets another message, this time from Kisumi.

> **S. Kisumi:** Hi Makoto attached is the map to my house. CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU THERE! XOXOXO

Well,  there goes the wrong send theory. And any chance of saying no, because there’s no way he’s rejecting two of Japan’s supermodels without good reason. Besides, if he’s to be completely honest with himself, he’s kind of ecstatic that supermodels of Rin and Kisumi’s calibre actually _want_ his company outside of work-related reasons. It’s pretty surreal.

He groans out loud and slaps both his cheeks when he realizes  that this directly violates the rule he’s set out for himself. The party technically _isn’t_ work, but that’s what makes it worse— he’s now going to enter a situation where he isn’t bound by client-relations rules.

His phone pings again after a while, and Makoto warily picks it up.

> **M. Rin:** I mean, no pressure or anything, but there’s going to be lots of famous people, and I could hook you up with a couple of other folks.

Makoto breathes a sigh—whether it’s of relief or disappointment, he can’t honestly tell for sure. Still, this gives him a professional spin on things, and regardless of what he’s convinced himself to feel, it will remind him that there is a certain distance that he needs to keep.

He quickly erases his previous message and types in his affirmative response before he can change his mind.

> **T: Makoto:** Yes of course I’ll come. Thank you for inviting me  Rin, I look forward to it! (=^-ω-^=)

He frowns, erases the happy cat emoji, and hits send.

To Makoto’s surprise, Rin replies immediately.

> **M. Rin:** Awesome. See you soon, Makoto. ;)

It’s stupid and ridiculous how giddy that additional winking smiley makes him. _I am a professional_ , Makoto repeats to himself as he flops on the bed and tries to smother his grin into his pillow.

~tbc~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's play a game of count the cameos. :D

Despite the invitation being a social call, Makoto still brought his camera with him, because famous people mean potential clients, and he wants to be ready with anything—which is the line of reasoning he put out to convince Sasabe to let him borrow the company car again. Not that he needed to try very hard; Makoto only had to mention the words “connections” and “Possible Marin-chan sighting” before Sasabe happily tossed him the keys, triple yen signs practically marqueeing in his eyes. He feels bad about using company resources for his personal affairs, but the directions to Kisumi’s house are terribly complicated and he doesn’t want to risk taking public transportation when carrying his equipment around.

Makoto looks up at the upscale, split-level house, unsure if he arrived at the right place. There’s music coming from it, some strange mix of chill-out and techno percussions. Catchy, but nothing Makoto could recognize. It’s loud enough to be heard from where Makoto’s parked, but not really enough to warrant complaints from the neighbours. From the windows, he can see the house is awash in some sort of velvety purple light, punctuated by silhouettes of movement from within (Makoto pointedly averts his eyes from some suspiciously conjoined ones) and starts walking towards it.

There are a few people loitering near the entrance, and he recognizes one to be supermodel Kise Ryouta, who is talking animatedly to a tall redhead with weird eyebrows and an even taller dark-skinned, lanky man, both of whom Makoto is pretty sure are starting players of the National Basketball team. Rin wasn’t kidding about this dinner being a gathering of famous people.

He fishes his phone out of his pocket, about to text Rin in hopes that he’d take pity on Makoto and fetch him from outside so he wouldn’t have to deal with that nervous feeling of being that lost peasant in a crowd of royalty, when he spots Rin coming out of the house. Relieved, Makoto hurries up to meet him halfway.

“Saw your car pulling into the street,” Rin says by way of greeting, as he gestures for Makoto to follow him inside. Makoto stammers a hurried “excuse me” to Kise when he and Rin squeeze past to get to the entrance, to which Kise just graces him with his trademark smile of maximum dazzle. Makoto nervously smiles back, awestruck for a few blinding seconds until Rin impatiently yanks him by the wrist and drags him into the posh living room.

The music volume increases tenfold once Makoto steps inside, and he blinks, eyes adjusting to the shimmering purple lighting and the blinking psychedelic flashes of what Makoto presumes to be disco lights coming out from another area of the house. The air is pleasantly cool and slightly tinged with a smoky, herbal scent.  It’s not very crowded, but there are several people scattered throughout the premises, pink plastic cups in their hands, and uniformly mellow expressions on their faces, heads bobbing to the beat of the music.

“Fucking Kisumi conveniently left out the part where this “dinner” is actually one of his crazy, throwback themed parties,” Rin shouts over the din of the music.

“What’s supposed to be the theme for this one?” Makoto shouts back, as he avoids getting crashed into by a klutzy blond man with tattoos clutching a turtle.

“Not sure if it’s high school. I mean, we already passed by the basketball jocks, and the mean girls are supposedly on the porch near the back,” Rin explains. “On the other hand, there’s also the funny fumes and liquor that isn’t a beer keg or cheap sake so it could be something else entirely. Fuck if I know. At least I fit in.”

Now that Rin mentioned it, Makoto notices that he’s dressed pretty casually. A wide-necked black sweater with this large triangle design in the middle, ripped skinny jeans and sneakers, topped off with a baseball cap. They’re such ordinary, normal clothes, and yet they do nothing to dim Rin’s bright aura, that _je ne sais quoi_ factor that makes him such a hit on the catwalk and fashion magazines all over Japan.

He takes a long look at his own outfit, suddenly overcome by a wave of self-consciousness. Haru had chosen his clothes for him—a simple black blazer, loose green button up with the top two buttons free, straight cut trousers and polished black monkstraps. Complete with his glasses (he forgot to buy contacts solution again) and neatly combed back hair, he is pretty much the picture of that overdressed old fogey, in a party filled with wild virile young ‘uns.

Rin notices him fidgeting with the sleeves of his blazer and grins reassuringly at him. “Don’t worry about it, you look great! You compliment my school theme— I’m your delinquent student and you’re that hot professor who needs to discipline my rebellious ass.”

Makoto gulps and covers the immediate onset of his embarrassment with a short chuckle, before desperately coming up with the mental image of his boss in a banana yellow c-string, which is his usual fail-safe method of making untimely boners wither away to oblivion. He really wishes Rin used any other comparison because now, apart from being self-conscious, his traitorous brain is now feeding him totally inappropriate images of what kind of _discipline_ he’d be handing out. “I… I didn’t know there’s a theme,” he mumbles instead. “I was actually afraid I’d be underdressed.”

Rin rolls his eyes.  “Seriously Makoto, you look fantastic. And do you really think I’d care? Kisumi wouldn’t, I can attest to that. In fact, he’s probably going to eat you up.”

He catches the alarmed look on Makoto’s face and laughs, the palm of his hand making brief contact on the small of Makoto’s back. He flashes him that patented, sharp-toothed grin of peerless confidence. “But I’ll protect you, don’t worry.”

Makoto wonders why he hasn’t passed out from overheating yet, what with the way every sentence Rin utters seems to up his temperature by several degrees. He focuses his gaze on a fancy painting on the wall and whispers his thanks, too flustered to look Rin in the eye.

“Anyway, I know where Kisumi keeps his bottles of Screaming Eagle and since he’s a total airhead who neglected to mention the theme in his invite, it’s only right I steal one to split between the two of us,” Rin declares, as they navigate deeper into the house. 

Makoto jogs his extremely limited knowledge on fancy alcohol and couldn’t for the life of him remember what a Screaming Eagle is supposed to be. The name alone either suggests something extremely torturous or extremely pleasurable, and if Kisumi’s keeping it hidden, it must also be extremely expensive. Furthermore, Makoto doesn’t condone theft, even if it’s technically Rin who’s going to do the stealing.

“It’s okay Rin, I’m not really planning to drink,” he replies nervously, hugging his camera closer to himself. “I’m driving, remember?”

“Plans can change,” Rin shoots back, grinning. “And there are several people I can call on to drive you home. So relax.” He pats Makoto on the shoulder before proceeding to open a set of double doors. “I’ve got you.”

Before Makoto can protest further, Rin pulls him into a more spacious room filled with comfy couches, lava lamps, and cocktail tables, where quite a number of famous faces are milling about in various states of sobriety, which is explained by the large open bar smack in the far wall. Makoto immediately spots Kisumi sitting on one of the bar stools, mixing his own drink. He’s decked out in tight fitting jogging pants and a black and purple basketball jersey, the cuts of his biceps visible even under the soft lamp lights. And for all these things, like Rin, he still manages to look like he just walked straight off the runway.

Relieved to finally see another familiar face, he raises his hand and waves. “Kisumi!” he calls out enthusiastically. Kisumi whips around, spots Makoto, and beams, abandoning his glass and bounding over to him. 

“Thanks for invi—mmph!” Makoto’s greeting is cut short when Kisumi just kisses him _right on the lips._ Too shocked to move, Makoto briefly tastes strawberry lip balm and some syrupy alcohol but it’s gone almost instantly when Kisumi yelps, stumbling back due to Rin yanking him by the collar, scowling.

“Stop molesting my photographer and go get him something to eat,” he barks at Kisumi before turning to a still shell-shocked Makoto. “And you, what did I tell you about calling Kisumi when he’s drunk?

Makoto snaps out of his daze and opens his mouth to protest at this unfair accusation, wondering how he's supposed to be accountable for Kisumi's random bouts of embarrassingly direct affection, but is cut off when Kisumi giggles. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous Rin,” he says with a wink, and quickly flits way before Rin can respond to that.

The lighting makes it impossible to tell for sure, but Makoto thinks Rin’s face is a few shades redder, and he feels himself getting tingly at the implications. He quickly stomps down on it though, before anything can take root and feed him delusions that will only crush his self-confidence when he gets reacquainted with reality later. It’s also highly likely that this is attributable to the alcohol Rin must’ve surely imbibed before Makoto arrived. Yeah that’s probably it; Makoto shouldn’t really make assumptions based on the musings of clearly inebriated people with no concept of personal boundaries. “Let’s go sit down,” Rin mutters instead, gesturing for Makoto to follow him.

Rin somehow manages to sequester a couch for the two of them after beadily eyeing its previous occupant, who quickly remembers he needs to go to the bathroom.

Kisumi comes back shortly, bearing a tray of canapés on one hand and a plate of thin beef slices in the other. He plops into the remaining space beside Makoto, places the trays on the table, and fishes a pair of chopsticks from the cylindrical container in the middle.

Makoto reaches out to take the chopsticks from Kisumi, but instead of handing them over, Kisumi picks up a piece of beef and holds it to Makoto’s mouth, beaming. “Here, try this. Wagyuu beef marinated for two days with Rin’s special recipe.”

Makoto’s too hungry to be embarrassed about being fed at this point, and leans forward, taking the marbled meat between his lips. Flavourful juices immediately burst on tongue, filling his palate with smoke and spice as he bites down and chews. “So good, Kisumi,” he moans, as he savours the meat, which is all too quickly consumed seconds after.

Rin clears his throat and Makoto's turns slightly to give him an inquiring glance, only to find Rin staring at him, his cheeks flushed crimson for some reason. Puzzled, he averts his gaze towards Kisumi, who just looks weirdly amused.

Makoto finishes chewing, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Does he have beef stuck in his teeth or something? “What?”

“Nothing! I’m so happy you like it!” Kisumi cries, and promptly shoves a much bigger piece into Makoto’s mouth.

Rin frowns. “Tch. Stop being so weird Kisumi, he can feed himself.”

“Yeah but it’s more fun this way.”

Makoto swallows that second bit of beef and shakes his head. “It’s alright Kisumi, I can manage,” he says, and accepts the fork Rin hands over to him. “Thank you for these, they're really delicious.”

Kisumi smiles proudly, and finally relinquishes his hold on the chopsticks. “No problem. You should go chill in the other rooms after dinner. I have a pool table, karaoke, and hookahs, if you’re into that.”

Makoto nearly spits out his third bite of beef. “Hookahs?” he chokes out. “As in _prostitutes_?”

Kisumi chuckles and leans forward a bit, patting Makoto’s cheek. “Why are you so _precious_ ,” he coos, like Makoto’s some mewling kitten stuck in a salad bowl. “There’s no need for prostitutes Makoto, if you need sex, there’s a soundproof room upstairs specifically for Kise’s drunken orgies; I can ask him to fit you in if you like.”

Makoto is too shocked to reply, which is just as well, since Kisumi bolts away from the couch, giggling, a chopstick sailing into the space where his head had been a split second before.

“Gotta go attend to the other guests, will catch you two later!” he calls out, blowing them a kiss before bounding out the door.

“Fucking Kisumi,” Rin grumbles, as he viciously stabs another piece of beef from the tray with a fork. “Why can’t I be friends with normal people?”

“He’s joking about the orgies right?” Makoto stammers, as soon as he feels his brain rebooting again.

Rin shoves the beef into his mouth and just throws Makoto a pitiful look. Makoto immediately decides it’s better not knowing.

“So um,” he starts, picking up a salmon canapé. “Is Sousuke here?”

Rin finishes chewing his food before answering. “He’ll catch up later,” he says, fetching a drink from a passing waiter. “He and Gou have a prior engagement.”

“Who’s Gou?” Makoto asks, before popping the canapé into his mouth.

“My sister,” Rin answers, as he takes another sip of his drink. “They’re meeting with the wedding planner. They’re getting married in a couple of months.”

“Oh wow! That’s wonderful!” Makoto exclaims through a mouthful of salmon and cream cheese. Remembering his manners, he swallows, the briny taste of capers lingering in his mouth. Best friends with Rin and engaged to Rin’s sister, Sousuke must really like the Matsuoka family.

He imagines what Rin’s sister would be like. If she’s anything like Rin, she’s probably incredibly beautiful, and a maybe a little feisty too, effortlessly bright like a field of sunflowers. He idly wonders if Gou also has the same unique sharp teeth, the same shade of wine red hair, the same delicate lower lashes.

“It is,“ Rin agrees. He fishes out his wallet and shows Makoto a picture of a young woman who looks so much like Rin (save for the longer hair, softer features, and normal teeth) flanked by Rin and Sousuke (who seems to have taken the picture, seeing as he has the longest reach). “That’s her.”

Makoto notices the collective joy in their smiles, lighting up the whole picture despite the cold snowy background. “She’s beautiful,” he says sincerely. _Like you,_ he doesn’t add.

“Of course she is,” Rin says, grinning proudly. “She’s my sister. No guy is good enough for her.” He pauses, mulling over his words, before his shoulders roll into a casual shrug. “Well, except for Sousuke. He’s practically family anyway, and this is just making it official.”

Makoto smiles at the tenderness in Rin’s expression, the way the word ‘family’ rolls off his tongue with a lilt of reverence, soft and protective, like a tiny hummingbird fluttering between two hands. This is one thing about Rin that Makoto easily understands, one thing he can relate to: this strong affinity for belongingness. It’s similar to how he feels about his relationship with Haru, and Haru’s relationship with the twins, who see Haru as another big brother, family in all but blood.

It’s one of Rin’s rarer expressions, and Makoto badly wishes he could take a picture of it right now. It’s a good look on him.

After a while, Rin clears his throat and puts his wallet back into his jeans pocket. “Anyway, you brought your calling cards right?” he asks, looking at Makoto’s camera bag critically. “I’m going to introduce you to some useful folks.” He quickly surveys the room, eyes roaming over the happy people plastered against various vertical surfaces in the room and sighs. “Well, as soon as I find someone who isn’t blitzed or high or emptying their stomach on the toilet right now at least.”

Makoto feels his cheeks redden, flustered at the casualness with which Rin transitioned to business talk. He almost forgot about that particular agenda, thoroughly enjoying the party for what it is. “Rin, really... that’s not necessary…” he says with a small voice.

“Don’t worry about it, socializing is what parties are for right?” Rin stands up, and scans the room again before zeroing in on someone who just walked in. “Hey, Yoshiya!”

The slender man with wispy silver hair turns towards them. Rin waves him over.

“Makoto, this is Kiryuu Yoshiya, the editor-in-chief of Shibuya Zodiac Couture,” Rin introduces as the man gets to where they are. “Yoshiya, this is Tachibana Makoto. He’s the photographer for the summer Kenzo spread.”

“Ah yes, I saw that one,” Yoshiya says in a mild, willowy voice. “Very nice. I especially like the part where you were biting your shirt."

“That was Makoto’s idea,” Rin says, nudging Makoto.

“I see," Yoshiya murmurs. He tinkers with the champagne flute in his hand before taking a delicate sip, scrutinizing Makoto from top to toe with a critical eye. Makoto is now extremely relieved that he came overdressed after all. "I’m opening a new line of men’s luxury wear for Pegaso,” he says after some time, seemingly satisfied with whatever he’s looking for. “I’d be honoured to have both of you for my show.”

“A new Royal collection?” Rin says excitedly. “Count me in!”

Pegaso is the Shibuya Zodiac’s most expensive brand, which means that the event will be patronized by some of the legendary names in the society of Japan’s haute couture. The boss will be very pleased. Makoto nods a little too eagerly. “Yes of course!” 

“Splendid,” Yoshiya says. “Makoto, do you have a card?”

Makoto hastily gives him his calling card and Yoshiya gives him his in return, a round red metal pin with a skull emblazoned in the middle, with his number in laced along the edges.

Shortly after Yoshiya leaves, Rin introduces him to several more people of various degrees of importance, and Makoto quickly jots down reminders on his smartphone, and keeps their calling cards in his wallet, ready to be delivered to his boss post haste. Makoto’s favourite is this dainty, light-brown haired man whose family is one of the biggest shareholders of Fuji films. Syuusuke, as he insisted to be called, happens to own a distributing company specializing on several camera brands, and he personally operates the main shop in Shibuya. By the end of their conversation, Makoto already got a 70% discount on a lens of his choice, provided he trades in one of his old ones, as well as a couple of 25% discount coupons on regular items.

An hour later, after Makoto bids farewell to the charming, androgynous supermodel Kashima Yuu, the music abruptly changes, and the upbeat, twangy tunes of an English country song starts pouring in.

_We were both young when I first saw you_

_I close my eyes and the flashback starts_

Rin nearly spits out the scotch he was drinking, looking pained and outraged. “Ohmygod, Sousuke!” he all but shouts as he jumps from his seat. “Be right back, Makoto.”

As soon as Rin storms out of the room, Kisumi appears by Makoto’s side, looking slightly flushed from exertion, and Makoto vehemently stops his thoughts from wandering into territories he never ever wants to dwell on, given the most recent info about what happens in Kisumi’s upstairs. Kisumi taps his shoulder and gestures towards the garden. “Want to get some fresh air?”

“Um…” Makoto worriedly looks back at the direction Rin disappeared into.

“Rin will know where we are,” Kisumi says, as if reading Makoto’s mind.

“Oh, okay,” Makoto says with a small smile, and allows Kisumi to pull him out of the room. They pass by a freakishly tall, black haired man with opaque glasses handing out cool looking neon-green drinks, and Makoto isn’t spared, a tall glass somehow ending up in his grasp as they exit the house. They sidestep some drunk stragglers on the back porch, before entering a gorgeous Zen garden with a koi pond. Makoto would really like to appreciate the garden a while longer but Kisumi hurriedly ushers him across a cobblestone path towards some huge bushes, where a wrought-iron bench is partially hidden, flanked by two light pagoda pillars. Makoto takes one edge of the bench while Kisumi sits in the middle part.

“So,” Kisumi starts cheerfully, as he makes himself comfortable, crooking his elbows on the back of the bench, ankles crossing. “I’m going to be straight with you here okay. The Taylor Swift song is a ploy for me to get you alone and grill you about your deepest secrets but especially the ones about your relationship with Rin.”

Makoto wonders if Kisumi has some weird grudge against him—this is the third time he shocked Makoto completely out of the blue. “... What?”

Kisumi casually reaches up behind his head and works out some kinks in his neck, acting like he does this type of artful deception thing five times before breakfast. “Don’t look at me, this is Sousuke’s idea and I'm duty bound to do him a favour because I'm his friend. But I like you a lot too, and I want to be honest with you," he explains. "Besides, it’s for the best that I’m doing the interrogating; you don’t want to deal with Sousuke when it comes to Rin, trust me on this.”

“Interrogating?” Makoto squeaks out, as Kisumi encroaches closer into his space. “For what?”

Kisumi makes a tutting noise, and slings an arm over him. “I’m asking the questions okay? First, what are your intentions with Rin?”

With the bench trellis digging into his side and Kisumi’s arm having a warm iron grip around his shoulders, Makoto realizes he has no way of getting out of this unscathed, and so he has no choice but to answer. “He’s my client, and source of income," he answers. Of course Rin is _much more_ than that, but Makoto’s not lying either.

Kisumi frowns. “What’s your relationship status?”

“Professional.”

“Come now Makoto, you don’t have to hide it,” Kisumi cajoles, smiling winningly. “Your secret’s totally safe with me okay?”

That’s kind of a riot, seeing as Kisumi just outright threw Sousuke under a bus a few seconds ago. “Kisumi… there’s nothing going on between us,” Makoto tries again, this time being completely honest. “Besides, even if I did have anything, I’m not even sure if he.. you know… likes guys.”

“He does,” Kisumi answers impatiently.

“How do you know?”

Kisumi shrugs. “Easy, we screwed around a couple of times in the past.”

Makoto’s grip around his glass tightens involuntarily.

Kisumi notices and grins. “I saw that."

Makoto looks away, striving for nonchalance, even knowing that it’s useless. "Saw what?"

True enough, Kisumi doesn’t buy it. “Don’t worry about it, we were drunk and stressed,” he answers breezily. “It’s not really an uncommon practice in the industry. Kise and I do it all the time, with each other, and with other people. Sometimes both at the same time!”

Makoto suddenly feels faint as he confirms his worst suspicions. “You… you were actually serious about the or... org…”

“Orgies? Why would you think I wasn’t?" Kisumi says, looking legitimately confused, his head cocked to the side. "It’s great, because we’re all in the same profession so we all know enough not to overdo it or leave marks and stuff. More importantly, we’re all really _hot_.”

Makoto has no idea how to answer that so against his better judgement, he takes a sip from the drink in his hand. It tastes like watermelon jelly ace and barely any alcohol. He actually likes it, which is a first, and takes a much longer gulp.

Kisumi is terribly persistent though. “So okay, just so we’re clear, you and Rin are not fucking or anything?”

Makoto is thankful he has already finished swallowing his drink. “What— no!”

“Do you want to?”

 _Well, I’d take him to the best dinner my photographer salary can afford first,_ Makoto thinks. _Then we’d take a walk in the park or go to a cat café. Maybe watch a movie and hold hands for a bit. All the sweet, awkward things people do before doing the do._ He doesn’t say any of it though, because his answer couldn’t be clearer if he held up a marqueeing neon pink sign spelling out HELL YES. “Who doesn’t?” he whispers in lieu of outright agreement, head bowed, blushing from the roots of his hair.

Kisumi gives him a wry smile. “Fair question,” he replies. “This is weird though. Even if you’re not doing anything, Rin just doesn’t do the whole pussyfooting thing.”

 _Maybe he’s ashamed that he’s crushing on someone like me. A nobody. Just some regular photographer who got lucky._ Makoto feels his insides twist, and he’s fairly certain it has little to do with the alcohol. “I really doubt he’d want someone like me… I’m so ordinary. He deserves someone better.”

Kisumi pouts and lays his chin on Makoto’s shoulder. “Hey, don’t be like that,” he coos, tilting his head a bit to the side, his face coming closer to Makoto’s, those pretty violet eyes radiating sincerity. “I’d totally go out with you, if I didn’t know Rin would impale my head on a spike if I tried.”

Makoto smiles weakly. Kisumi is so sweet, trying to make him feel better. “I’m flattered, but I really don’t think he likes me that way. We’re just friends.”

"Oh so you're friends now? A while ago you were just professional partners. At the rate this is going you guys better be fucking by the time my party ends."

“Kisumi!”

“You’re so cute Makoto,” Kisumi sighs dreamily, eyes flickering up to a point beyond Makoto for a brief moment. “I’m serious about what I said earlier though. I really like you!”

“You like everyone,” Makoto points out.

“That’s also true,” Kisumi admits.

“Makoto.”

Makoto whirls around, dislodging Kisumi from his shoulder, and sees Rin. _He looks really pretty_ , _brilliant even_ , he thinks, probably because Rin’s backlit by the light of the pagoda pillars giving him an ethereal aura. “Hi Rin,” he greets, hoping he doesn’t sound as light-headed as he’s suddenly feeling. “How long have you been standing there?”

Rin shuffles over, standing right in front of them. “Long enough.” His tone is curt, and he looks upset, lips curled into a tight scowl that does nothing to mar his delicate features.

“Don’t worry Rin, the DJ should be here any minute now, I’ll tell him there’s a ban on country,” Kisumi assures him, not budging in his comfortable place against Makoto’s side.

Rin doesn’t reply. His gaze lands on the drink in Makoto’s hand, and his expression turns thunderous. “Where did you get that?”

“This?” Makoto looks at his nearly empty glass, a small strip of neon green liquid swirling around the bottom. “There’s this tall guy with the thick glasses that was handing it out…”

Rin turns towards Kisumi, looking angrier than Makoto’s ever seen him. “How could you let him get an Inui mix?!”

“What’s an Inui?” Makoto asks at the same time Kisumi pales and says, “Oh fuck.”

“Makoto stop drinking that!” Rin barks.

“Huh, what are you talking about? Rin, you’re so bright…” Makoto blinks rapidly, and Rin’s glower intensifies; in fact, he’s literally _glowing,_ sparkling like a big redheaded fairy with shark teeth.

The last thing he sees is Rin lunging for him, before he promptly passes out. 

 

*

When Makoto wakes up, he’s lying on an a bed that is definitely not his, with his limbs feeling like lead and his head feeling like it’s being assaulted by a jackhammer.

“Rin says he’s sorry you had to go through that, and that he made sure at least three people vomited on Kisumi’s shoes by the time the party ended,” a familiar monotone voice says.

Makoto forces his heavy eyelids to crack open, and sees a hazy outline of someone. “Haru? Where are we?”

“My place.”

“Oh.” He turns towards the side, and the soft bedside lamp light hits Makoto’s eyes like a thousand volts of pain, and he quickly shuts them again. “Sorry, I think I’m drunk.”

“Yes I realized that the third time you told me I had no nipples.”

Makoto can’t even summon the strength to be mortified. He burrows himself under the blankets and slowly opens his eyes there, making them adjust carefully to the light.

“What did you drink anyway?” Haru asks from somewhere in the adjacent bathroom, followed by the sound of tap water. “Are you sure it’s even legal?”

“I don’t know. The last thing I remember is, Kisumi was asking questions and then Rin was there, and he was shining…”

He quickly knocks the blankets aside and bolts upright.  “Where’s my camera? And the company car!” he rasps out, panicking.

“Your camera’s with me, and the car is parked in the garage downstairs,” Haru says calmly, and hands him a glass of water. “Drink up.”

Makoto relaxes, assured that his source of livelihood is still secured. He obeys quietly, taking the glass and drinking the lukewarm water slowly, the rawness in his throat immediately relieved. “Thanks Haru,” he whispers when he finishes, and lies down again. His relief is short-lived however as the persistent throbbing behind his skull returns. He squeezes his eyes shut, curling in around himself again. “My head really hurts,” he whines.

Haru shakes his head. “You’re such a baby,” he admonishes, and moves towards the headboard, sitting on the edge of the bed.  “Alright fine. Come here.”

Makoto sluggishly scoots over and lays his head on Haru’s lap, sighing contentedly when Haru starts massaging his temples.

“I messed up,” he blurts out, apropos of nothing.

“You messed up what?”

“Rin. I totally messed up,” Makoto mumbles. His head is getting foggy again, drowsiness settling anew behind his eyelids. “Kisumi knows and now Rin probably doesn’t want anything to do with me...”

Haru snorts. “I highly doubt that considering how many messages and calls he left on your phone.”

Makoto reflexively starts to get up, only to be held back by Haru’s hands which are still massaging his temples. “Haru!” he protests, flailing feebly. “I need to answer those!”

“Don’t bother, I already told him you’re knocked out cold and that you’ll only be able to answer in the morning,” Haru responds, fingers not stopping in their movements.

“But he probably feels so guilty about what happened,” Makoto mumbles. “Which he shouldn’t be because it’s not his fault.”

“It’s not your fault too.”

“Well, I drank the stuff.”

“You didn’t know it would knock you unconscious.”

“I should’ve seen the obvious signs. I mean, it was _neon green_. And glowing!”

Haru exhales laboriously and slowly eases Makoto’s head off his lap, gently settling him on the pillow. Makoto doesn’t fight it, already feeling himself zoning out, Haru’s massage already on the way to working its magic.

"Whatever," Haru says as he stands up. “Figure this out later, you need to rest for now.”

Makoto is too sleepy to protest, yawning when Haru tucks him in. Eventually, he falls asleep, his dreams awash with the colour of wine.

 

*

 

**FROM THE SMS INBOX OF TACHIBANA MAKOTO:**

 

 **S. KISUMI:** I’m so sorry Makoto ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥᷄⌓˂̣̣̥᷅ )‧º·˚

 **S. KISUMI:** Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything to Rin.

 **S. KISUMI** : In fact I think he’s convinced that you hate him now.

 **S. KISUMI:** Please answer Rin’s texts, he said that he’s going to throw orange nail polish on one pair of my shoes for each hour you don’t reply (-m-)

 **S. KISUMI:** Sousuke says that wasn’t part of his plan by the way. I’m 75% sure he’s telling the truth.

 

 **Y. SOUSUKE:** Look, I have no idea what Kisumi told you, but I swear I had nothing to do with whatever knocked you out.

 **Y. SOUSUKE** : I was looking out for Rin yes, but I wouldn’t poison people for information about his dating habits.

 **Y. SOUSUKE:** Okay I would, but only if they’re an asshole. Which you are clearly not.

 **Y. SOUSUKE:** Anyway, Rin is being insufferable. By that I mean, he just called me 8 times in 3 hours. It’s 3:30 AM. 

**Y. SOUSUKE:** If you can just get him off my back, I will hire your studio to handle my wedding’s photography. All of it.

 **Y. SOUSUKE** : Come on man, it’s the weekend, Gou is sleeping over. We have plans.

 

 **M. RIN:** Makoto I am so sorry. That was a disaster.

 **M. RIN:** That was seriously not the way I wanted that evening to end **.**

 **M. RIN:** I already stole the bottle of Screaming Eagle.

 **M. RIN** : I just wanted to chill with you outside the studio and spotlights.

 **M. RIN:** Anyway, Haru just told me you’re knocked out cold.

 **M: RIN:** I’m really sorry.

 **M. RIN:** I want to make it up to you. Call me when you’re awake.

 

 ~tbc~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've been traumatized by the idea of Kise/Kisumi orgies, please blame [CC](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CCP), she wished for it.
> 
> Makoto and Rin's outfits are the suggestion of my lovely and patient beta reader [attemptsonwords](http://archiveofourown.org/users/attemptsonwords)
> 
> And the KisuMako moments are a special treat for [sugarblaster.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarblaster)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Makoto and Rin talk a lot, and Haru makes another appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took 18490121 years to update, I've been busy. Anyway, I'm doing some major restructuring for the direction of this fic because I suddenly remembered I had to have a plot somewhere OTL. I have no idea how many more chapters this will take, but I know for sure it won't be done in two, so I'm leaving it open-ended for now. 
> 
> Again, I'd like to thank [attemptsonwords](http://archiveofourown.org/users/attemptsonwords) for being such a wonderful beta! As usual, I've added some more bits after she was done with it so any mistakes are mine and mine alone.

_Street lights alternating through the window._ _Motion blur._ _Car horns blaring, Doppler effect. Dark. Denim fabric against his cheek. The subtle scent of sandalwood with notes of bergamot and musk._

_Low throbbing ache in his head, ring-decked fingers on his hair._

_Wine red._

_Soft voice._

_“Makoto,” he whispers, the sound of it carrying through the oceans in his head, like the trill of summer breeze, a tropical siren song in the muted lights of a city that seems to move around him._

_“What would you do if I…”_

 

*

 

When Makoto wakes up the next day, the sun is already high in the sky, he’s wearing nothing but his boxers, and Haru is nowhere to be found in his apartment. He slowly sits up, yawning as he drags a hand through his hair, encountering unruly tangles that jolt him awake with each painful tug. He shakes his head to clear off the last vestiges of sleep, double checks the clock just to be sure it’s not a weekday, and then sluggishly drags himself out of bed.

There’s an uneasy feeling in his gut, like he’s supposed to be doing something important, but hunger and the persistent throbbing in his head push everything else out of his mind.

He trudges over towards the kitchen. Haru left Makoto a hastily scribbled note on the refrigerator, stating that he went out to buy groceries and that there’s food on the table, painkillers in the cupboard, and instructions to feed Bonito, his cat. Sticking the note back on the fridge with a dolphin magnet, he does a quick scan of the kitchen, but Bonito is nowhere to be found. Probably still lazing about in one of the sunny corners of Haru’s house, if not drunkenly rolling around on a stash of catnip.

His stomach growls, reminding him just how famished he is. Deciding to look for Bonito later, he pulls out a chair and helps himself to Haru’s cooking. For once, it’s not mackerel— Makoto must’ve been so mightily blitzed last night, Haru felt he needed an extra measure of care and deigned to make him some green curry.

He finishes everything in record time and feels less like a zombie than he did around fifteen minutes ago.

After eating and doing the dishes, he takes a shower, relishing the feel of his muscles relaxing under the steady pounding of hot water. It helps with the latent hangover too, his head clearing little by little, the low thrum of pain in the back of his skull slowly ebbing away.

After drying off, he rummages through Haru’s closet for any clothes he could wear. He finds his own sweatpants, a pair of loose boxers, but unfortunately, a glaring lack of his own shirts. He looks around for the clothes he wore last night and doesn’t find them.

 _Haru probably had them laundered_ , Makoto decides. No big deal. He can do without a shirt until Haru comes back.

Out of nowhere, there’s a sudden padding of tiny feet behind him and before he can turn around, Bonito twines around his legs and meows pitifully. Chuckling, Makoto bends down and picks her up, nuzzling her nose. “Yeah yeah, I’ll feed you in a bit, just give me a second.”

He turns around, about to head over towards the kitchen when the doorbell rings.

 _Haru must have forgotten his keys_ , he surmises as he makes a one-eighty towards the apartment entrance. Securing Bonito in one arm, he uses the other to open the door.

Makoto blinks. Rin is standing in front of the door, dressed in a plain dark hoodie and jeans, finger still poised on the buzzer.

“Rin!” he exclaims, beaming as he adjusts the cat in his arms. “What are you doing here?”

Rin stares at him for a second and then straightens his back, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I uh, I wanted to check you o— I mean, check on you.”

Makoto raises an eyebrow. “You could have texted me you know?”

“I did text you. Several times,” Rin mutters. He looks down, scuffing the toes of his sneakers on the floor. “You never answered.”

Makoto nearly drops Bonito, who meows disapprovingly, as it finally dawns on him why he’s been feeling so uneasy all this time. “Ohmygod, I’m so sorry!” he cries. “I just woke up half an hour ago— I haven’t checked my phone yet.”

The faint lines of worry on the corners of Rin’s eyes dissipate and he visibly perks up. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re not deathly ill or in an alcohol coma or something.” He catches Makoto’s gaze again, cracking a sheepish smile as he gestures at the door. “Do you mind if I come in? I need to talk to you about something.”

Makoto would’ve slapped himself on the forehead if there isn’t a hungry feline nestled in his arms. “Yes of course! Sorry, I’m so out of it,” he says, moving back to make room. “Please come in.”

Rin takes off his shoes by the door, and as he steps inside, Makoto gets a good whiff of his cologne — Issey Miyake, summer collection, if he remembers correctly. He has a feeling that if he’s still mildly hung over, he’d probably have immediately sobered up by now. Rin smells _so good_ , and it’s all Makoto could do not to follow him close behind like a creepster.

“I hope Haru doesn’t mind me intruding,” Rin says as he strides into the living room.

Makoto remembers to close the door behind him. “He won’t,” he promises, leading Rin towards the couch. “Besides, it’s not like you’re a complete stranger.”

“I guess.” Rin opts to take the right end of the couch, and leans back, elbows crooked over the top. “Where is he by the way?”

“He just went out for groceries. He’ll be back soon.” Makoto sets Bonito down on the floor and steps into the kitchen. “You want anything to drink?”

“What do you have?”

Makoto surveys the contents of Haru’s refrigerator for choices and sighs. His search is disappointingly short. “Tea. And…water.” 

“Just water then.”

Makoto nods and pours two glasses of water, slipping in several ice cubes in each, before bringing both into the living room, a glass in each hand.

Rin accepts the water gratefully. “Thanks, Makoto. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Makoto shakes his head and sets his glass down on the coffee table. “You didn’t. I was just going to feed Bonito.”

Rin raises an eyebrow. “Haru named his cat after fish?”

Makoto laughs. “Yeah.”

“Strange sense of humour.”

“That’s the thing, I don’t think he was being humorous,” Makoto replies dryly. “Excuse me for a sec.” He hurries back to the kitchen again, opens a can of cat food and scoops the contents into the kitty bowl. Bonito immediately pounces on it. Makoto gives her a little fond scratch behind the ears before standing up and washing his hands. He throws a discreet glance back at the living room, checking what Rin is up to.

Rin is currently relaxed against the couch, eyes darting here and there, surveying the interior of Haru’s apartment, which is surprisingly minimalist in a lot of ways. The walls are painted in swatches of grey, white and navy blue, with only basic furniture and shelves. There’s a couple of framed paintings on the walls of the living room, and an antique television set, the kind that still comes with its own wooden box, more for decorative purposes than anything else. There are a couple of framed paintings gracing the otherwise bare walls— Makoto's favourite is the one with five different goldfish in a beautiful backdrop of blue and silver.

The only other item of notice in Haru’s place is his coffee table centerpiece— a wooden carving of a large round headed bird, which looks out of place with the cool blues and white of the room. (“Conversation starter,” Haru quipped when Makoto asked him why he chose such a hideous centerpiece. “And it’s not hideous Makoto; you have no sense of beauty.”)

After drying his hands with a hand towel, Makoto goes back to the living room, taking a couple of seconds to decide where to sit, until Rin gestures at the spot beside him. Feeling himself reddening, he nods and takes said seat, grabbing his own glass of water along the way.

There is approximately a foot of space between them. Rin has dropped his left arm to his side, his hand resting just a couple inches from Makoto’s thigh, and Makoto is reminded of an earlier time, in a trailer dressing room, where Rin never got to answer the question of what it is he really wants.

“You must be feeling really warm, huh?” Rin remarks casually, glancing at Makoto sideways.

"Hmm? Oh no, not really.” Makoto tilts his head to the side, squinting at Rin’s glass. “Oh wait, did I put too much ice in your water?"

“No, I meant…” Rin clears his throat, dragging his gaze somewhere on Makoto’s chest, before meeting Makoto’s eyes again, one eyebrow raised.

The penny drops.

“Oh.” Makoto says very softly, as his current state of undress hits him like a pistol whip to the face.

Then, panic mode sets in, and because the world has seen it fit to punk him majestically, the full glass in his hand is jostled, ice cold water sloshing out and hitting him square on his right nipple. The sound it wrenches out of him is both obscene and high-pitched, like he sat on something pointy as he jumps up, nearly toppling over the coffee table in front of him.

“ _Coldcoldcoldcoldcold_ ,” he squeaks out, teeth chattering as he desperately searches for something to mitigate this most unholy humiliation.

He's on the verge of sprinting to the kitchen to use the dishtowel when Rin calmly stands up and hands him a handkerchief. "Here, use this."

Makoto takes it and hurriedly wipes himself down. When his nipple no longer feels like it's stiff enough to cut glass, he looks at the drenched handkerchief, only noticing now how Rin has his initials personally stitched into a corner, making him even more embarrassed. This handkerchief probably cost more than any of Makoto’s existing shirts and he’s using it to _wipe his chest_ like an utter barbarian. “I’m so sorry,” he blurts out, feeling himself physically heating up from head to toe, which is probably not doing him any favours, now that he’s fully aware he’s half-naked. “Haru put my clothes in the laundry and he doesn’t own anything that won’t rip on my frame.”

Rin shakes his head and grins, easy and light. “Don’t worry about it. I’m the last person you should be body shy with, you know?” he says, and sits back down.

“I’ll wash this and return it to you on our next job,” Makoto promises, folding the soaked handkerchief and putting it on the table beside him. He fights the urge to wrap his arms around himself, feeling so exposed, even though Rin has seen him shirtless several times.

“There’s really no rush,” Rin assures him. “It’s not like I’m going to miss it or anything.”

“...Okay.” Makoto looks longingly at one of the throw pillows nestled on the adjacent armchairs but before he can even think of grabbing one, Rin speaks up again.

“If you’re thinking about grabbing a throw pillow to hug and cover yourself, don’t.”

Makoto fights the urge to bury his face in his hands, and settles for bunching fistfuls of his sweatpants instead. “It’s just.... I’m so embarrassed.”

“Why? You’re hot, Makoto,” Rin says without shame. “You should own it.”

How does Rin just _do_ that? It’s not fair, he’s trying to wallow in his embarrassment here and Rin is ruining his game plan by being this shamelessly sweet. Clearly, Makoto is vehemently not equipped to handling compliments from top tier supermodels after making a fool of himself in front of them. His entire being feels so much like a huge fleshy furnace, it’s a wonder the couch hasn’t caught fire yet.  “Okay…. So um…” he quietly ekes out, desperate to steer the conversation away from his current predicament. “You said you have something you want to talk about?”

Rin perks up at the reminder. “Oh yeah, I need you for a job tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow?” Makoto is taken aback. It’s unusual for Rin to call him in on a Monday, and with less than 24 hours’ notice besides.

“Yeah, sorry it’s a bit last minute. You don't have to worry about major equipment and stuff, just your camera and you."

Well that certainly makes things easier. Makoto breathes out a sigh of relief and sits up straight. Never in his life had he ever imagined conducting business with a client while he’s half-naked and in ratty sweats, but then again, Rin has defied every single stereotype of how high profile beautiful people act. “Okay sure. What's it about?"

"Hmmm.” There’s a playful spark in Rin’s eyes when he leans back against the couch and grins, sharp and knowing. “You'll find out tomorrow."

Makoto’s brow furrows. This is a first. "Eh? But what will I tell my boss?"

Rin makes a face. “Do you have to report everything to your boss?"

“Well I have to tell him what official business I have for not being in my cubicle on a Monday.”

“Tch. Fine. Tell him it’s for uh, Speedo.”

“Speedo.” It’s the first time he’s ever heard of Rin in association with the brand, but Makoto supposes it makes perfect sense— Rin’s a swimmer after all, and he has the body for it. “Alright got it. Is it going to be a photo shoot or an event?”

Rin makes a tutting sound. “I told you, you’ll see.”

“Can’t I have a clue?”

“Speedo _is_ the clue.”

“Eh, but It’s just one word,” Makoto whines.

“That’s all you’re getting.” Rin smirks and relaxes against the couch, crossing his right ankle over his left knee. “Kind of like a porn thumbnail right? It looks like one thing but you never know what you’re gonna get into when you click it.”

Makoto stifles the urge to laugh. “Are you saying you were being deliberately misleading?”

Rin leans back and places his hands behind his neck. “Nope. I’m saying expect the unexpected.”

“Unexpected porn doesn’t usually lead to anything good,” Makoto points out.

“Well trust me, mine is the good stuff okay?” Rin declares. “None of those ‘off-center butt shots where you can see the shadow of the boom mike on the mattress’ sort of porn.”

Makoto stretches his legs in front of him and glances sideways at Rin, smiling playfully. “You actually notice those things?”

“What, and you don’t?”

“I don’t know, maybe I don’t watch that much porn to notice?”

“Yeah, and I gargle broken glass for my dental upkeep,” Rin retorts. “You’re a photographer. Even if you don’t watch that much porn, noticing these things is second nature to you.”

Makoto laughs loudly at that, and he immediately covers his mouth with a hand. He’s really come to appreciate this easy banter between him and Rin— he can’t remember the last time Rin ever made him feel like Makoto’s just someone under his employ. Rin actually treats him like an _equal_ and it still blows his mind sometimes, especially during moments like this.

Rin’s brow is furrowed. “What’s so funny?”

Makoto removes his hand from his mouth, though one last chuckle manages to escape him. “It’s just that you chose to believe in the skills culled via my photographer training rather than the easier explanation of me watching a sufficient amount of porn.”

Rin raises an eyebrow. “Do _you_ watch a sufficient amount of porn?”

“Define sufficient.”

“If you have to ask that, then you clearly don’t watch enough.”

Makoto works hard to smother a grin. So Rin thinks he consumes less porn than the average individual. It’s both cute _and_ flattering. “How did we get here anyway? The speedo thing doesn’t have anything to do with porn, does it?”

“What— no! Makoto please, who do you think I am?” Rin scoffs. Makoto laughs again and Rin pouts at him, before kicking at the floor and tilting his head in Makoto’s direction. “Would you still do it if it did?

Makoto’s laughter immediately disintegrates into a worrisome choking fit. “Rin!” he manages to gasp out in between hacking coughs. He could feel yet another blush burning him alive, as his imagination provides him a rather explicit series of images which would easily debunk Rin’s impression of Makoto’s less than average porn consumption.

“I’m kidding!” Rin actually sounds like he’s panicking, and Makoto notices he’s moved closer and that his hand is running all over Makoto’s bare back, which is really _not_ helping the blushing situation. “Okay okay, enough porn talk… um, you really haven’t seen your phone before this?”

“No…” The last cough escapes Makoto, and he clears his throat, trying to calm himself down. It should not be humanly possible to blush so much in so little time; his blood vessel activity must be extra enthusiastic today or something. “Er, should I get it now so…?” He leaves the question open-ended, tilting his head at Rin.

Rin shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. Just read them later,” he mutters, finally removing his palm from the small of Makoto’s back.

“Okay. Wait, how were you able to open my phone in the first place?”

“Kisumi unlocked it.”

“How, I never told him my passcode.”

“Kisumi’s memory is astounding. He probably saw you unlock your phone once, and remembered the pattern.”

Makoto files this information for future reference. “How did you know to call Haru?”

“I didn’t. I called your mom first.”

Makoto almost groans out loud. Looks like he hasn’t completely gotten off this train ride of embarrassment yet _._ “Ohmygod, you called my _mother_?”

“Well, I didn’t know who else to call?” Rin responds defensively. “I didn’t want to call your boss. Anyway, your mom told me to contact a ‘Haru-chan.’ I had no idea, that Haru-chan was Nanase Haruka.”

“He’s my best friend and my emergency contact.”

“I thought she meant your girlfriend or something,” Rin jibes, smiling crookedly. “I mean, he was listed as _Haru-chan_ in your phone.”

“Nah, that’s just what I call him sometimes,” Makoto answers with a short chuckle. He takes another long sip of his water, taking care not to spill it again, before setting the glass back on the table. “He pretends to hate it. We’ve known each other since we were babies, grew up together and eventually moved to Tokyo together for college.”

Rin makes an “mmm” sound and takes a sip of his water, glancing at Makoto sideways. “Why did he quit modelling?”

Makoto leans back and looks at the large painting occupying the opposite wall above the television — a breathtaking depiction of the ocean at sunset, with a cherry blossom tree in full bloom perched on a cliff overlooking it from the distance. “I guess he prefers to create beauty rather than be it.”

Puzzled, Rin follows his gaze, and his eyes widen, clearly impressed. “Damn,” he murmurs. He stands up from his seat and looks closer, fingers skimming the wooden frame.

“He’s good,” Rin says after a while, as he turns back towards the couch.

“Very,” Makoto agrees, nodding. “You should see his studio.”

“Maybe someday.” Rin slumps back against his seat and sighs. “Well, if that’s really his calling, there’s no helping it I guess,” he grumbles. “It’s a shame though; he could really make it big as a model. You know I hired you because of your pictures of him right?”

"Yeah, my boss told me.” Makoto smiles at Rin, as he remembers just how far he’s come because of that endorsement. “I’m very lucky.”

“It goes both ways,” Rin turns to Makoto, scooting a little closer, so that his hand is brushing against Makoto’s thigh. “You’re really good at what you do, Makoto.”

There’s something in the way Rin says these words, with that quiet, earnest tone that makes him _impossible_ to doubt, even for Makoto, who has this special talent of deflecting praise when it gets too much to handle (and for Makoto, too much doesn’t take a lot). It’s not Rin’s status as this big name in society that drives the impact behind what he says—it’s the raw, unbridled honesty in them, the way he doesn’t hesitate or second-guess, the words shaped by his heart as well as his voice. By all means, the words by themselves are fairly ordinary but the moment they leave Rin’s lips, they become something Makoto feels instead of hears.

And just like that, Makoto’s embarrassment melts away, eclipsed by Rin’s sincere belief in him, and he finds himself beaming so widely that if someone put flower buds next to him right now, they’d probably _bloom._ “Thank you, Rin.”

Rin’s smiles back and takes another sip of his water. Makoto mirrors him, and for a while, no one says anything.

After Rin returns his now empty glass back on the table, his fingers start restlessly tapping against the couch, lip caught between his teeth. Makoto realizes with a certain degree of disbelief that Rin looks _nervous_. But what about though? He stays quiet, deciding to wait for Rin to speak in his own time.

Finally, Rin fingers stop their tap dance on Haru's cushions. He takes a deep breath and turns to look at Makoto, his bangs falling across his forehead as he does so. “Listen, I’m really sorry about what happened last night,” he starts. “Do you… do you remember anything?”

Makoto blinks, his mind going back to that hazy dream he had before waking up. Or at least what he thought was a dream. Now he’s not so sure. Now that he thinks about it, he really has no recollection on how he got back to Haru’s place from Kisumi’s. “I….”

Before he can continue though, the door to the apartment opens again, and Haru walks inside, an armful of groceries in his arms. He pauses as he notices Rin sitting on his couch.

Makoto figures he needs to explain this to Haru first. “Haru, I hope you don’t mind, Rin was just checking up on me,” he says.

“I don’t mind,” Haru replies after a while as he strides into the kitchen area, near the back, and places the bags on the counter. “It’s only right that he checks on you, since it’s his fault you came home tanked anyway."

"Haru!" Makoto all but shouts, looking at Rin apologetically. "I told you, I'm the one who—"

"—He's right though, I should have warned you about the drinks,” Rin interrupts, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m really sorry about that. I’ll try to return him conscious next time.”

Haru sets down a bottle of brewed soy sauce on the counter and looks at Rin directly. “So you’re assuming there’s going to be a next time.”

Makoto groans. “Haru!”

Rin looks shocked for a moment, eyebrows raised, lips slightly parted. Then, his eyes narrow and he slowly sits up, spine straightening, shoulders rolled back. Like this, he appears taller than Makoto who is still slouched down. “Is there a reason why there shouldn’t be?” he asks coolly.

“No there isn’t!” Makoto says before Haru can answer that, throwing Haru a pointed look. _I know what you’re doing. Stop._

Haru purses his lips. _Do you, really?_ He turns his back on them and busies himself with something in the sink. “Sure, if _conscious_ is the extent of your standards with people in your company at the end of the day.”

Makoto fights the urge to bang his head on the wall. Oh boy, here we go.

Rin’s jaw drops. “I was _joking_.”

“What about Makoto being drugged in a party you invited him to, was that a joke too?”

“He was not _drugged_ , and that wasn’t even my fault, it wasn’t even my party to begin with!”

“You left him alone with _Kisumi._ ”

“He wasn’t— I didn’t…” Rin’s mouth opens and closes a few times, as if trying to grasp for his next words and failing.

“Thought so,” Haru shakes his head before Rin can continue and folds his arms, looking at Rin like he’s the unwanted thrice-discounted item on a clearance sale rack. “How disappointing.”

Rin shoots up from his seat, eyes blazing. “You are such a—” He stops abruptly, his eyes narrowing. “Wait. Are you fucking with me?”

Haru’s mouth is still set in a prim line, but there’s smugness radiating from the slight quivering of his shoulders.

“I should never have told you what happened when I first met Sousuke,” Makoto mutters, and Rin bristles beside him.

“Ohmygod you _are._ ” Rin stomps his foot, looking furious with himself. “I can’t believe you. I can’t believe _me._ I can’t believe I fell for that!”

Haru just brings out a tray with three tea cups, and what looks to be a mini chocolate cake in the middle with three spoons “You’re losing your touch Rin. Cake?”

Rin’s outraged expression softens, despite Haru’s ribbing.  He throws himself back down on the couch. “Nah, I’ll just have the tea”

Haru takes the armchair next to Rin. “Family Mart too plebeian for your diet these days?”

“Haha, you can stop now,” Rin grouses, and snatches a fork as if to prove his point. “Gimme some of that.”

Haru smiles and hands him the cake. “It’s good to see you again, Rin.”

“Yes, I see you are charming as always,” Rin grouses, though his eyes are bright when he shoves a bite of cake in his mouth.

Makoto just throws Rin another contrite look, though the sight of chocolate cake mollifies him significantly. Trolling Rin aside, Haru is definitely spoiling him today. “Thanks for the cake Haru,” Makoto says happily, and digs in.

 

*

 

By the time they finish talking, it’s already late in the afternoon and Rin has ignored his cellphone at least five times in favour of winning some manner of argument against Haru. Which is another astonishing thing about this entire encounter: Haru being there didn’t make things awkward at all, despite how Rin and Haru seem to bicker a lot about everything—  from food (meat vs fish) to fashion (animal print vs polka dots), to favourite sea creature (Sharks vs Dolphins). Normally, the very idea of his reticent best friend being so argumentative with his super high profile crush is something that would make Makoto weep and wring his hands with despair. While Makoto certainly did feel like doing that for the first few minutes, it became increasingly apparent that Haru and Rin actually seem to _enjoy_ riling each other up. There was a noticeable increase in Haru's verbosity and sass, which thus led to a similarly noticeable increase in Rin's levels of twitchy hotheadeness, the combination of which consequently led to an increase in Makoto's fondness for both of them. It’s a bizarre sort of camaraderie, but an oddly comforting one at that.

“It was nice catching up with you Haru,” Rin says, as he steps out the door, tugging his hoodie back over his head.

Haru leans against the doorframe. “You too, Rin.”

“I’ll try to drop by your gallery sometime and give you some business,” Rin says, winking.

Haru nods solemnly. “Let me know before you do, so I can put the most expensive ones up front,”

Rin’s eyebrow twitches and Makoto stifles a chuckle. “You’re a really shitty salesman you know?”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m actually an artist,” Haru shoots back, before retreating back into his apartment.

Rin just rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning when he turns towards Makoto’s direction.

“Walk me to the elevator?” he asks. 

Makoto is startled, but he smiles, feeling the worryingly familiar wave of giddiness overcoming him for possibly the third time in as many hours. “Sure.” He hastily puts on some slippers, and steps out. “Be right back, Haru!” he calls out.

The elevator isn’t located too far, but Haru’s apartment is at the farthest end of the floor, so it entails a bit of a walk.

“Do you tell everything to Haru?” Rin asks, once the door is closed and they’re a few meters away.

Surprised at the question, Makoto looks down, watching their shadows on the floor. He notices that their footsteps have slowed down fractionally. “Not everything,” he answers after a beat. “Just stuff I feel he should know.” He looks sideways at Rin. “Why?”

Rin shrugs one shoulder. “He trolled me good earlier. Some sort of revenge because of Sousuke, if I heard you correctly.”

Makoto smiles wryly. “Yeah, sorry about that. He’s just looking out for me, in his own weird way.”

“Tch. Well, he’s right though,” Rin’s footsteps slow down to a full stop, and Makoto follows suit. He turns to look at Makoto, and there’s something in the way his eyes are so vast and open and earnest that makes Makoto’s breath catch in his throat. “People should take better care of you.”

Makoto’s blinks, not expecting that. “...Haru never said that.”

Rin shoves his hands in his pockets and breaks his gaze. He resumes walking. “He didn’t need to,” he mumbles, almost inaudibly.

There’s a faint blush staining his neck, though Makoto can’t tell if it’s just the effect of the sun flitting through the leaves outside. There’s something to be said about the orange light of late afternoon - it’s an automatic natural filter— washing out imperfections, like autumn melting into light. Once more, Makoto wishes he had a camera.

They reach the elevator, and Makoto realizes he hasn’t replied yet. For once, he cannot come up with anything to say. He shoves his hands in his pockets, and stares straight ahead, and he can feel Rin’s eyes on him. He wonders if Rin sees him in that same autumn filter, if he can see Makoto’s flaws getting washed away by the bronzed orange glow of the afternoon sun, if he feels the same urge to capture him through lens and film, keeping Makoto in ways far longer than a moment would last.

The elevator opens and a couple of young women step out, openly gawking at Makoto as they pass by but Makoto doesn’t pay them any mind. Rin keeps his head bowed, hands shoved in his pockets, and steps inside. “Well,” Rin says. “See you in—

“Rin, wait,” Makoto blurts out, hurriedly stepping forward, halting the elevator doors.

Rin immediately jams his finger on the open-doors button. “Yeah?”

Makoto bites his lip, suddenly unsure of what to say. He just reacted on reflex, not quite ready to let Rin go yet. Not like this. They’ve spent at least four hours together yet it still feels so incomplete, so much between them left unsaid. He wants to ask so many things— what happened last night, what do you mean people should take care of me, what are you doing, what _are_ we?

Instead, he asks: “What you said. About… you know... a next time?” He hopes he sounds as light-hearted and nonchalant as he is definitely _not_ feeling, his pulse roaring in his ears.

Rin pauses as if considering the question, before meeting Makoto’s gaze. His hoodie has fallen back a bit, wine red hair sweeping across his forehead and partially covering his eyes, yet Makoto can see the naked brightness in them, emanating like the light in his smile. “You should check your messages,” he answers quietly. Then he smirks, glances at a point beyond Makoto’s shoulder and then jabs a finger on Makoto’s chest, _hard._ “Also _now_ is a good time to put on a goddamn shirt.”

Makoto whirls around and blushes as he sees the two girls who passed by him earlier giggling at him in front of their apartment.

“See you tomorrow, Makoto!”

He turns around again just in time to catch Rin’s parting wave as the elevator doors close.

 

*

 

On the way home, he drops by Fuji’s camera store in Shibuya to take advantage of his new discount privileges, and emerges with a brand new 24-80mm lens, after trading off his old 70mm one. He’s excited to try it out tomorrow for Rin’s Speedo job, whatever that is. Rin’s never acted so secretive about official business before so Makoto’s curiosity is higher than ever.

The first thing he does when he gets back to his apartment is to charge his phone and check his messages. It’s almost six in the evening, which means he has spent a full 18+ hours offline. He grimaces when he sees the deluge of texts and missed calls, and spends the first ten minutes assuring Kisumi that he doesn’t hate him, then the next ten assuring Sousuke that Makoto doesn’t think he’s a potential murderer, and that Makoto sincerely hopes he and Gou still managed to have a wonderful time despite Rin’s frequent interruptions.

He spends the next ten minutes pacing on his floor, wondering how to answer Rin, a good five minutes of which is spent stopping occasionally mid-pace, reading Rin’s texts again, and then staring out the window with a big dumb grin on his face.

Finally, he gathers enough wits about himself to sit down and actually text back. 

> **T. Makoto:** _Thanks for checking up on me, I really appreciate it. ( ´_ _▽_ _` )_ _ﾉ_

He’s in the middle of composing another text, this time with a proper response to Rin’s texts the night before, when his phone buzzes again. Rin. He hurriedly presses on the new message.

> **M. Rin:** _No problem. I’m assuming you read my other messages?_
> 
> **T. Makoto:** _Yeah. You don’t have to make it up to me Rin, I told you, you did nothing wrong._

_Yeah, that’s why you asked him about a next time right?_ Makoto chides himself. He bites his lip and lays his head on his arm, grateful that he’s doing this all over text so Rin can’t see how Makoto is so embarrassingly so far gone.

His phone buzzes after thirty seconds:

> **M. Rin:** _Nice try but_ _I've already made up my mind. I'll pick you up from your apartment tomorrow, around 0700H alright?_

Makoto blinks, and double checks the screen to see if he read that correctly. Rin’s picking _him_ up? Makoto has daydreams that _start_ this way, this is really bad. His heartbeat speeds up again, and he would've buried his face in his hands if he isn't gripping his phone so hard. It takes all his strength to tap out a casual reply, instead of the keymashing he feels is more suited to how he feels at the moment.  

> **T. Makoto:** _That's fine. :) Anything else I need to bring?_
> 
> **M. Rin:** _A change of clothes. You never know when you might get wet._

Intrigued at this new clue, Makoto immediately starts to reply but before he can finish, Rin sends a series of texts in quick succession.

**M. Rin:** _Because there's going to be a pool okay._

> **M. Rin:** _and not anything else_
> 
> **M. Rin:** _fuck I'm terrible about this surprise thing._
> 
> **M. Rin:** _well now you have 2 porn thumbnails. Enjoy._

Makoto feels his face grow hot— he didn't even think of that ‘anything else’ until Rin had so helpfully pointed it out. He quickly adds a few words to the reply he was previously composing and hits "send."

> **T. Makoto:** _Noted on both, Rin. I'm guessing I'll also bring a swimsuit?_
> 
> **M. Rin:** _You don’t need to. ;)_
> 
> **M. Rin:** _because I’ll give you one, I mean. Legskins._

Makoto’s is extremely grateful that Rin quickly decided to elaborate; at least now, he is spared the trouble of psychoanalyzing that message because winking emoticons exist and make his life complicated.

But hey. Free legskins. Makoto taps out another reply.

> **T. Makoto:** _Really? Wow! Thank you so much! (_ _＾_ _∇_ _＾_ _)_
> 
> **M. Rin** : _No problem. Get some sleep, okay, we have an early start tomorrow. See you!_
> 
> **T. Makoto:** _See you!_

He puts his phone back on the desk, and buries his face in his arms again, sighing deeply, taking in the spring fresh scent of the fabric conditioner Haru used for the shirt he is now thankfully wearing.

For the first time since he realized his feelings, he dares to hope.

~tbc~

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Makoto and Rin go swimming for a cause, and Makoto proves himself capable of an enormous level of self-restraint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that "porn thumbnail" conversation from last chapter (that isn't really about porn)? Well, that's going to be relevant here, though probably not for the reason you expect. :p

Makoto wakes up the next day at exactly 0615H, refreshed and bright, feeling like he can take on the world and emerge victorious. This by itself, is extremely unusual of him, as Monday mornings and Makoto normally have the compatibility of fish and sand. He actually slept for a full, uninterrupted seven hours, despite his stomach being a roiling pit of nerves for the better part of last night, and he didn’t even need to tap the snooze button on his alarm.

Basically, he woke up, remembered that Rin has a surprise for him, and suddenly it’s already a great day.

At 0700H on the dot, Makoto closes the door to his 1DK, just as Rin texts him he’s rounding the street corner of Makoto’s apartment complex. He forgoes the elevator and hurries down the stairs instead, arriving at the sidewalk just in time for a sleek red Subaru WRX to slow down to a stop in front of him, a bright spot of colour against the dreary grey of Makoto’s neighborhood. The passenger side door opens automatically, and Rin peers at him from the driver’s side.

“You ready?” Rin asks, as soon as Makoto straps himself in. Not _good morning_ , not _hello_ , or even _have_   _you had breakfast_ ; Rin has always been disarmingly direct.

 _Ready for what?_  would have been Makoto’s reply, but that would be predictable and unexciting, and those are the last things he’s feeling today. So he looks Rin straight in the eye, tilts his head to the side, and grins back. “Always when you are.”  

Rin’s smile turns sharper, his gaze brightening. For once, Makoto is not the first to look away.

*

Thirty minutes later, Makoto finds himself standing in front of Tatsumi International Swimming Center in Koto, camera out, and taking panoramic shots of the place. He feels like he’s suddenly been transported to another world, the huge, looming structure looking like something that came from the far off future: chrome and silver spliced domes seemingly stacked side by side, sprawling concave-arched entrances, and windows that span from floor to ceiling.

At the front entrance, there’s a welcome banner for Speedo’s annual fundraiser, a joint venture with the Asian Development Bank of Japan meant to raise funds for public sports facilities in third world Asian countries, in an effort to increase country representation for the upcoming 2020 Tokyo Olympics.

“Speedo has pledged 1,000 yen for every 200 meters swam by each of the participants,” Rin explains, as they enter the main hall. Makoto finally sees the Olympic sized pool for the first time, eyes widening at the breathtaking expanse of clear aquamarine waters. It’s been awhile since Makoto has seen a pool of this mass and breadth, so the sight of it floors him a little, memories of his high school days swimming with Haru rising unbidden in his mind.

“The event employs full use of both pools in the stadium. Each pool has a celebrity leader, one boy and one girl,” Rin continues, his voice carrying over the cacophony of splashing water and scurrying feet, as the event organizers scramble to finish the last of their set-up. “The boys’ team gets the pool on the first floor while the girls get the underground pool. I’m the leader of the boys, while Yazaki Aki leads the girls.”

Makoto’s eyebrows raise. “Yazaki Aki, the Olympic gold medalist?”

Rin nods. “Yeah. Actually, the original male leader is supposed to be Mikoshiba Seijuuro, but his schedule couldn’t permit it, so Gou asked if I can come in his stead.”

Rin is taking the place of an actual Olympian. Damn. It’s truly astounding how Rin gets progressively more awesome every time Makoto meets up with him. “Does being a celebrity leader give you any special privileges?” he asks, hoping the awestruck look on his face has subsided by now. “Like... do you have higher payouts or something?”

Rin shakes his head. “The races of the leaders have no value whatsoever. But we multiply the total earnings of all the participants for every kilometer we swim.”

“Wow,” Makoto breathes, genuinely impressed. “That’s a really creative set-up.”

“Isn’t it? All the participants get a free swimsuit from Speedo and Speedo can showcase their products in action. And the payout will be equal to performance. Everyone wins.” Rin snaps his fingers as if suddenly remembering something. “Oh and speaking of swimsuits, are legskins okay with you?”

Makoto stops on his tracks. “Wait--  I’m participating?”

Rin’s expression falters. “You don’t want to?”

“I do!” Makoto hurriedly blurts out, because there is no way he’s passing up the chance to swim in the same pool Japan’s finest swimmers have trained in. “But what about the pictures?”

Rin waves his hand dismissively. “The event already has some media coverage so you don’t have to do much. But since you’re my official photographer, any pictures of me that will be publicly published by the company must come from you. You just need to take a couple of pictures every time I change into a new swimsuit. Speedo wants me and Aki  to showcase their latest designs. Apart from that, you’re free to do whatever you want.”

Makoto breathes a sigh of relief, then feels a little guilty that Rin is still paying him his complete fee for his time, even after knowing fully well that there’s actually going to be very little work involved. Honestly, if only he isn’t tied to Iwatobi Studios, he would do this for free in a heartbeat.

“Okay. That sounds perfect.” He smiles at Rin, hoping to convey just how much he appreciates this. “Thank you.”

“There you are Onii-Chan!” a new voice calls out from behind them, followed by the squeak of sneakers on the floor. “Why didn't you come to the lounge like I told you to?”

They both turn around. A young woman who Makoto instantly recognizes as Rin’s sister approaches them, hands on her hips, looking miffed.

“I was already on the way there-- I was just taking Makoto around the place so he can take some pictures before the event,” Rin explains.

The woman’s severe expression drops when she shifts her attention to Makoto. “Ah, you’re Onii-chan’s photographer, right?” she says warmly, and holds out her hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you! I’m Matsuoka Gou. Welcome to my company’s annual fundraiser!”

“Tachibana Makoto,” Makoto greets back, shaking Gou’s hand. “Your fundraiser’s concept is pretty cool by the way.”

“This event is Gou’s brainchild,” Rin says proudly. “She’s the marketing director of Speedo Japan.”

Gou smiles modestly. “Well, we needed something that would showcase performance and establish brand identity, and what better way than to see our products in action?” She turns back to Rin and jabs him on the chest. “Anyway Onii-chan, you need to head to the VIP lounge and get your swimsuits from Chigusa. Also, she’s going to give you a briefing on what you need to do later, since you were too busy missing the meeting yester--“

“--I’m on it,” Rin interrupts loudly, already sprinting off towards the lounge. “See you in a bit, Makoto!”

Once Rin rounds the corner, Gou turns to Makoto. “Let’s wait for him at the restaurant. Have you had breakfast yet?”

“Uh… I had coffee and a piece of toast.”

Gou tsks. “That’s won’t do! You’re swimming too right? You should’ve eaten something more substantial!”

Makoto grins sheepishly. “Yeah…  But I only found out I’m participating just _now_.”

Gou’s brow furrows. “Just now? You mean Onii-chan didn’t tell you?”

“Ah well, he said he wanted to surprise me…”

Gou’s expressions softens. “Oh that’s just like him…” she muses thoughtfully. “Well anyway, if you’re going to swim, you’d better eat something more filling than toast! Come with me.”

Without waiting for Makoto to reply, she turns around and marches off towards the direction of the Tatsumi restaurant near the front entrance. Makoto hurries after her, sending a quick text to Rin about their new location as he does so.

The restaurant sign still says “Closed” but Gou breezes in anyway.

“One hirekatsu set meal please,” Gou tells the boy doing preparations at the counter. “And a brewed coffee.”

“Right away Matsuoka-san!” the boy exclaims and hurries into the back, presumably to prepare her orders. Makoto is kind of awed.

“Katsu for breakfast?” he questions. Gou sure is serious about making sure Makoto has enough calories to burn for the event later.

Gou’s eyes widen and she slaps a hand over her forehead. “Oh no, I’m so sorry!” she moans. “it’s become a habit for me to get katsu because that’s what Sousuke always gets. We could get something else! Do you want pancakes or karaage or--”

“Katsu is fine, Gou-san,” Makoto interrupts before Gou can berate herself further, smiling reassuringly. “Thank you, I will really need this if I want to wring out the maximum possible amount of money from your good office.”

Gou smiles in relief. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They sit down on one of the round tables on the side of the restaurant with a view of the pool. Makoto looks longingly at the pristine waters, glinting gold from the morning sun seeping in through the high windows. He had just gone swimming with Haru a couple of weeks ago, but he’s already itching to swim again later. Haru would love this pool. Makoto briefly contemplates asking Rin to invite him, because Haru would definitely be able to clock in several thousand yen worth of swimming… and then promptly remembers that Haru doesn’t have the patience to follow a specific swim schedule and share the pool with so many people. Nonetheless, he makes a mental note to check out the pool’s regular public schedule after the event.

Their orders arrive shortly. Makoto’s food is served on a black and red lacquer tray housing a cup of miso soup, a small round dish with cabbage and sesame dressing, a bowl of white rice, and a red rectangular plate where a line of golden brown pork cutlets is carefully laid out in a neat line.

“That should be enough. Eat up,” Gou urges as she pours a single serving of syrup into her coffee. Makoto nods, folds his hands in front of him and bows his thanks for the food, and soon, they settle into easy conversation.

“I’m really glad you’re feeling much better!” Gou says. “I heard you got smashed at Kisumi’s party last Saturday.”

Makoto ducks his head sheepishly. “Yeah, I did. I recovered yesterday afternoon though. Rin came to visit me at Haru’s place..”

Gou raises an eyebrow at him.

“Uh, not that those things are related or anything,” Makoto hurriedly adds, blanching when Gou’s eyes narrow. “Well okay, his visit maybe helped a little because--”

“--He was with _you_ the whole time?” Gou interrupts.

Makoto suddenly gets the feeling that he just said something he shouldn’t have. “…Yes?”

This feeling is confirmed when Gou pouts angrily, and folds her arms. “Ooh, I knew it! He lied to me!”

“Uh…”

“He was supposed to meet with me and my marketing team for the program today, and he totally bailed on me, citing he had a really important and urgent meeting. On a Sunday.”

 _Oh shit_. “...Well maybe his first appointment finished early, so he just decided to visit me?” Makoto ekes out desperately.

Gou’s scowl deepens. “He said his appointment was all the way in _Chiba._ ”

Oh. Ohhhh. _I’m so sorry Rin._ Makoto has no idea what to do in this kind of situation so he goes with his usual: “I’m... sorry?”

Gou waves her hand dismissively. “Why are you apologizing? It’s not your fault.” She leans back and takes another sip of coffee, giving him an appraising look over her coffee cup. “Besides, if it’s you, then I guess it’s okay.”

Makoto’s heart does one of those cliché skipping things, and he does his best to school his expression into something curious but still passably blasé. “If it’s me?”

“Yeah...” Gou says, shrugging. “I mean, you like my brother don’t you?”

Makoto carefully swallows the mouthful of pork and rice currently in a half-chewed state in his mouth. He does not panic. This question will never cease to throw him off, but at least he already answered this, under more strenuous circumstances even. “Who doesn’t?”

Gou appears to contemplate his answer for a moment before shrugging in assent. “I guess.” She takes another sip of her coffee and looks out at the pool. “Well, I have to say, you’re really good.”

“Good?”

“At keeping his attention.”

Makoto blinks, unable to speak yet again due to the fact that he has unwisely devoured another mouthful of katsu.

Gou seems to interpret this as a sign for her to explain. “You’re not making it easy for him, you know,” she continues gently, before giving him an encouraging pat on the arm. “Keep that up.”

Makoto is very confused. Another half-chewed mush of rice and breaded pork is forced down this throat. “Keep what up?”

“Whatever you’re doing!” Gou exclaims, which answers nothing at all. “Because believe me, it's working.”

“Um…”

“Nothing excites my brother more than the possibility that he can lose.” She sighs and absently takes a sip of her coffee again. “Though I can’t believe that he still falls for the classic hard-to-get tactic.”

The cup of miso soup in Makoto’s grasp nearly crashes on top of his rice. There’s sticky soup splashed all over his hand but he hardly notices. “I’m not playing hard-to-get!” he protests. Where did that even come from?

Gou blinks as she hands Makoto a wet towel to wipe his hand. “Eh? So why haven’t you tried anything yet?”

Makoto is hit by a sudden onset of deja-vu. “I…  don’t really know."

Gou looks offended. “What do you mean you don’t know-- are you not attracted to my brother?”

“Actually--”

“--Because I really don’t see how you couldn’t,” Gou interrupts brusquely. Makoto nearly pushes his chair back as Gou stands up, gripping the edge of the table, staring Makoto down. She actually manages to look menacing, despite being half Makoto’s size. “Because he’s kind and hard-working and he has muscles that belong to a Greek pantheon--”

“--Of course I’m attracted to him!” Makoto cries out, then covers his mouth when he realizes how loud his voice was. “But I can’t… you know, just act on it.” Well _haven’t acted on it_ is the more accurate choice of words, but he has only come to terms with the possibility of Rin returning his feelings last night and he’s not about to broadcast his plans to the world and not especially to Rin’s sister of all people. He doesn't even have any solid plans to begin with.

“Why not?”

“Because…” Makoto grits his teeth and hangs his head, already knowing he’s fighting a losing battle. “He’s… well, he’s out of my league?”

The affronted look on Gou’s face could stop a horse’s heart. “That’s bullshit.”

 _You think I don’t know that?_ Makoto doesn’t say. A small part of him feels ashamed at Gou’s berating but a bigger part of him is oddly hopeful. “I know, but you can’t really blame me for thinking that way.” He smiles apologetically and rubs the back of his neck. “Your brother is easily one of the most beautiful people I’ve met in my whole life.”

For some bizarre reason, this actually makes Gou smile-- but it’s a deadly kind of smile, very Rin-like in fact. She lacks the teeth, but none of the sharpness, that Matsuoka spark that Makoto is so helplessly drawn to.

“You’re funny,” she says. There’s a sudden knowing quality in her sharp smile, like she’s about to impart some unsuspecting insights on Makoto’s ignorant fool self. “That’s usually the reason people are so eager to jump him…”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think? Imagine, landing Matsuoka Rin...” She brings the coffee cup up to her lips and peers at him. “Even if it's just a one-night stand, it's still something that gives you enough to make you king of the breakroom for at least a month.”

Something hot and ugly twists in Makoto’s stomach. “That's wrong,” he answers quietly, the hand not holding his chopsticks clenching tightly on his side. “That’s… dehumanising. Rin is not some trophy that people can show off for bragging rights.”

The corners of Gou's smile stretch higher. “See this is exactly why I like you. You don’t act entitled to him just because he showed you some slight bit of interest.”

Makoto raises an eyebrow. “I work for him. He’s my client. If anything, he’s entitled to _me._ ”

Gou makes a tsking sound and shakes her head, resting her chin on her palm. “That’s _cold_ Makoto-san," she complains. " _Just_ your client?”

Makoto quickly takes a huge gulp of his iced tea and guiltily shifts his eyes in another direction. He doesn’t say anything, certain that the expression on his face is answer enough. 

Gou giggles, covering her mouth demurely. “I really like you Makoto-san. You keep things interesting.”

The heat currently turning Makoto’s cheek into a living furnace doesn't exactly melt away, but somehow, he feels some measure of victory over the fact that Rin’s sister _likes_ him. “Haha, wow um… that’s a first.”

“You are. You should start believing that.”

“I...”  He swallows, and licks his lips. Dropping innocuously powerful yet simple statements on unsuspecting people must be a Matsuoka family trait or something. He clears his throat and manages to smile. “I’m working on it.”

“Believe it.” Gou then finishes the last of her coffee, lips lingering on the rim of her cup. “Onii-chan believes it.”

“I believe what?” Rin’s questioning voice echoes from behind Makoto.

Makoto nearly drops his chopsticks again. It takes considerable effort for him to keep calm and not accidentally flip the table to create a suitable distraction. Rin hasn’t heard anything important. He couldn’t have.

Gou just sets down her empty cup on the table and smiles up at Rin as he approaches. “That Sousuke is the most perfect specimen of a human being to grace the Earth,” she quips dreamily, curling a strand of hair around her finger and batting her eyelashes in Rin’s direction. She laughs when Rin makes a disgusted face at her.

But before Rin can react further, she stands up and gathers her purse. “But someone else is giving him a run for his money, huh Onii-chan?” she teases, making Rin sputter and glare at her. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to talk to our PR officer. I set a huge budget for this so good luck later!”

“Don’t worry, I intend to bankrupt your office,” Rin calls out from behind her, laughing when Gou sticks her tongue out at him before leaving out the doors.

*

Makoto can’t remember the last time his lungs burned so satisfyingly like this as he finally taps the tile, finishing his second set of laps. Earlier, at the start of the event, he decided to pace himself and spread his swimming time evenly, 800 meters every two hours, alternating swim schedules with Rin, so that he can take Rin’s pictures when it’s his turn.

He removes the goggles from his head, and shakes the excess water from his hair. It’s already two in the afternoon and the bleachers are packed with proud parents and friends, cheering on their respective swimmer representatives. The turnout for the event had been staggering, with so many eager participants of all ages wanting to contribute to the cause. On the lane beside his, there’s a group of young boys yelling and cheering for their friend, who is currently struggling to finish the last ten meters of his race.

Makoto grins, feeling like cheering himself when the boy finally reaches his goal, after several more seconds, looking out of breath but happy. His friends all yell excitedly and pull him out of the pool, congratulating him for finally finishing 200 meters without stopping.

“That kid has been practicing his ass off for the past couple of weeks just for this event.” Rin’s voice gently interrupts Makoto’s quiet observation, and he looks up to see Rin smiling fondly at the group of boys walking away. “Gou told me he used to have asthma.”

Makoto can feel his chest grow warm with happiness at the new information. “He’ll go far,” he comments, just as he grabs the hand Rin holds out to him.

“Definitely,” Rin agrees, grunting a little as he pulls Makoto out of the water. “You’re no slouch yourself. Thirteen minutes and twenty seven seconds for 800 meters is pretty good!’

Makoto chuckles modestly. “Thanks, Rin,” he says, still beaming. He heads over to the refreshment table with Rin, dodging a couple of overexcited kids, and grabs a Pocari Sweat from the cooler. He downs half the bottle in one go, soothing his chlorine parched throat.

Rin hands him a towel and his camera bag. “We’re making really good time,” he says, eyes shining with pride. “It’s been only 4 hours but we’ve already raised 4 million yen.   

Makoto lets out a low whistle. “Wow, that’s a lot of money,” he remarks, as he takes the bag from Rin. He looks at Rin for a couple of seconds, and blinks. Only now does he notice that Rin’s already changed into a new swimsuit-- for which Makoto is simultaneously grateful and disappointed, as the first suit Rin had to wear was a bright red swimming brief that showed off his legs a little bit too gratuitously, and left very little to the imagination.

Rin’s wearing jammers now, black with grey and white stripes down the side with the speedo logo parallel to it. It looks great on him, like everything else, and it doesn't make Makoto want to run to him with a censor board, at the very least.

“Yeah. Anyway, I'm going to catch you later, it’s my turn again,” Rin announces, as soon as the next swimmer in Makoto’s lane finishes. He tosses his towel towards a nearby chaise and stretches his arms above his head. “Think I’ll do freestyle this time.”

Makoto nods and takes out his camera. “Good luck Rin,” he calls out, and Rin just flashes him one of those dazzling grins in reply.

Rin takes his spot in the middle lane, snaps the band of his goggles against the back of his head and bends down.  

He’s positioned against the light, but for once Makoto doesn’t really mind. After all, a photographer must know how to work with shadows as well as light.

The start signal booms. Rin dives, and the carved silhouette of his body is pure art.

Makoto takes a picture.

*

At the end of the event, Rin manages to swim 5 km total while Makoto contributed with 3 km in between his shooting requirements. Rin has changed to yet another suit, this time a lot more stylish and shapely than anything else he’s sported so far.

“Those don’t look like standard regulation,” Makoto comments, eyeing the black and red and partially see-through legskins.

“What, just because they have thigh windows?”

“Oh.” Makoto finds himself focusing his attention on his already perfect camera settings, hoping to project an air of professionalism despite the extremely unprofessional way his face is responding to that bit of information. "Is that what they’re called?”

“Yeah. And I know what you’re thinking-- these things serve no purpose whatsoever,” Rin says as he practically throws himself on one of poolside chaises, and stretches his legs in front of him. “But they look nice.” He widens his stance just a bit, reaches down and runs a finger on the crease of said windows as if testing the material, before peering up at Makoto. “Don’t you think?”

No, Makoto’s definitely not doing any thinking _at all_ , because his brain has temporarily gone on ice, which is rather unfortunate, because he’d sincerely appreciate the ability to summon horrible images of dead kittens now or possibly the sudden bankruptcy of his favourite videogame company. It’s nothing short of a miracle that he managed to grunt out a quick affirmative “Yeah,” while hastily pulling down the jacket he is thankfully wearing. “Nice.”

“Yeah, and you can tell it’s custom made because the windows really follow the shape of my inner thigh,” Rin excitedly explains further, his legs widening even more. “Here have a closer--”

“--No, it’s okay!” Makoto blurts out, and staggers back. “I mean I really should start shooting you.” _Crap._ “Your pictures. Um, I need to do start doing my job.”

Rin raises an eyebrow, and sits up straight, looking concerned. “But Makoto, you--”

“-- I don’t feel like I’ve really done enough today for you to pay my company the usual rates so.. so…” Makoto stammers as he slowly backs away from Rin, holding the camera at eye level, hoping it adequately hides the fact that his cheeks are turning crimson. “So... I’m going to earn my keep.”

Rin is still looking at Makoto like he grew wings out of his ears, and Makoto kind of wishes he did, because that would probably be easier to deal with than _this._

After a while Rin just shrugs and stands up, stretching his arms above himself. “Okay.”

 _Thank you_. “Okay.” Makoto takes a deep breath and stops once he’s reached a respectable distance.

“Uh.. isn’t that a little too far?” Rin calls out.

“My new lens has 25-70mm optical zoom!!” Makoto yells back. He quickly fixes the settings again to adjust to this new distance. “Okay, I’m ready so umm… go do your thing.”

“My thing,” Rin echoes, absently running a hand through his hair.  Makoto takes a picture of it and then realizes that Rin hasn’t even started yet. Damn.

His new lens works extremely well at any rate, and it's both a curse and a blessing. Like this, Makoto has no choice but to allow himself clearance to fully indulge in an incredibly close-up view of those thigh windows. Rin wasn't kidding-- Makoto can see the cuts of Rin’s thighs so _clearly_ through the translucent mesh. There’s something especially sexy about skin that is covered yet exposed, and Rin’s movements seem hardwired to capitalize on it.

Whether it’s intentional or not, it’s working very well.

 _This is so wrong_ , Makoto moans internally, when Rin casually sits down on the floor, props one knee up and bends the other, opening his legs into a pose that Makoto feels should warrant a strict non-PG rating. He remembers Gou’s words, about how Makoto’s not making it easy for Rin, and miserably thinks that Gou has the configuration _all wrong._

“Can you, um, stand up?” he asks, after he has shot Rin in that provocative pose from every conceivable angle. “I’d like to focus on the other parts of the suit.”

Rin tosses his head back and smirks at him. “Sure. Want a booty shot?”

Before Makoto can react to that, Rin stands up quickly and turns at a 45 degree angle away. Then he puts a hand on his waist, slants his hips to the side, and looks behind him to grin at Makoto. He does it all so smoothly and in such a way that Makoto’s eyes can’t help but be drawn down to where the sleek material conforms to the perfect curve of Rin’s ass. Makoto doesn’t even notice pressing the button; his finger just moved on its own.

He shakes his head when he hears the sound of his shutter, clearing out the temporary haze in his brain. He studiously ignores Rin’s amused laughter, and goes about the rest of his job.  

“Okay, we’re done,” he says after a few more shots of that same pose from several other angles, none of which detract from the sexy provocativeness of it all. He wipes the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his jacket, as he slowly walks towards Rin.  “Which uh, which Speedo collection is this so I can note it down.”

“Oh this last one isn’t part of the collection,” Rin says. “It’s my personal legskins-- tailored specifically by Speedo.”

Makoto’s jaw drops. “... What?”

RIn shrugs. “I never told you to take pictures of it, you did that on your own. I tried to tell you but you insisted on _doing your job_.”

Makoto experiences the curious sensation of feeling himself progressively getting smaller. “Oh...”

“Besides, you seriously looked like you were enjoying yourself.” Rin’s grin is breathtaking, even with the mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Who am I to stop you?”

Makoto gulps and looks around. Indeed he did not notice that most of the stadium has already been cleared of people, with only the cleaning staff left, sweeping the pool side area. How. How did he not notice this?

Rin’s phone beeps. He checks it, frowns, and then tosses it back into his satchel. “Anyway, I need to go meet up with the marketing department for the debriefing,” he announces, as he shoulders his bag and starts walking. He passes by a still frozen Makoto and casually brushes his fingers against Makoto’s shoulder, tracing down the slope of his bicep as he leans in just close enough to whisper:

“Feel free to keep the pictures for yourself.”

*

By the time Makoto finishes his shower, the water is almost freezing, and his teeth are chattering as he steps out. He won’t be surprised if he catches a cold later on, but extreme measures are completely necessary. _You’re so bad for my health Rin_ , he whines to himself, as he pushes his hair back, squeezing out as much water as he can.

He doesn’t know whether to curse the manufacturers of those legskins or thank them profusely. Maybe both.

He grabs the lone towel from the rack and almost despairs at how _tiny_ it is. Great, he somehow managed to pick up the towel for kids; god when will the universe just give him a _break_? He’s been good-- he does his taxes, helps old ladies cross the street and carry their groceries, and is kind to most animals that don’t have more than four feet. Those things should make up for the bouts of impure thoughts he’s been having about his “boss,” not that Rin is completely innocent in the matter either.

“Hey Gou said you got the wrong--- Oh.”

Nope, no break. If the universe had a voicebox, it would probably be cackling in Makoto’s general direction by now. He didn’t even have time to wrap the towel around his waist; he’s too busy staring dumbly at it as if it will suddenly double in size if he looks at it hard enough.

Rin is not even making any move to look away. And so Makoto simply wraps the tiny towel around his waist as carefully as he can, with all the dignity he can muster, which is not really a lot considering the turn of events so far.

“What?” he mumbles, as he tries to tie the meager amount of leftover towel to secure around his hips.

Rin leans against the lockers and folds his arms, his eyes never leaving Makoto’s. "So..." he starts. His tongue peeks out from between his lips, and Makoto hates himself a little for noticing it. “...Is the porn thumbnail more than what you bargained for yet?”

Makoto’s cheeks flare and the towel nearly slips from his grasp. What kind of a question is that to ask someone standing in a towel the size of a fig leaf in front of you? How the heck is he supposed to answer that? He takes a deep breath before raising his chin, looking Rin in the eye, mustering all the latent bravado he has in his body. “It was definitely not what I expected.”

Rin tilts his head to the side. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Good?” Why is Rin not moving, or looking away; why is he still _here_. “Very good. Excellent even. Was it good for you?” _God Tachibana, just Shut. Up._

“Hmm. I don’t know.” RIn takes a step forward, the much bigger towel held out slightly. “Typically at the end of porn videos, they don’t cover up the important bits.”

This is it, this is the day Makoto dies, in the male locker room of Tatsumi International Swimming Center, where he will inevitably melt into a pile of hormones on the floor and get swept away into the gaping abyss beneath the drains.

Because _that?_ That was outrageously _brazen,_ even for Rin, and if Makoto is a lesser man, he'd probably be dragging Rin into one of the larger toilet stalls right now.

Thankfully, amidst the surge of lust inside Makoto’s head, he remembers Gou’s words. _You’re not making it easy for him. Keep that up._

It’s a testament to Makoto’s diligent sense of self that he manages to put a leash on his raging libido. He takes a deep breath to clear his head. He needs to be rational about this. They’re in a public shower room and there are still a few people lounging around the premises. Besides, he didn’t endure that freezing shower only to jump on Rin for handing him a towel.

So instead, he squares his shoulders, and looks Rin straight in the eye, hoping to god he doesn’t look as terrifically _fried_ as he’s currently feeling. “Well, maybe this isn’t the actual video,” he starts as he walks towards Rin, his stride slow and deliberate despite the fact that his pulse is roaring in his ears. He notices Rin’s smile growing, like someone who has certain victory dancing just beyond the edge of his reach, itching to take that half-step closer just to snatch it.

Then, at the last moment right before he reaches Rin, Makokto bows slightly and steps aside. He rests his hand fleetingly on Rin’s shoulder, and smiles as beatifically as much as possible, similar to what Rin did a while ago during the thigh windows incident.

“Maybe this was just your _preview._ ”

He then plucks the much bigger towel from Rin’s grasp, their fingers brushing together just _so._ “Thanks for the towel Rin,” he calls out, and strides past him towards the lockers, dropping the tiny one he is currently sporting along the way.

*

That crazy surge of self-confidence doesn’t last very long; in fact, by the time Makoto has come back out of the locker room all dry and dressed up, he is having a small-scale meltdown inside. In retrospect, maybe he had been too forward. Seriously, what was he _thinking?_ Whatever happened to asking people out like a normal person? He basically admitted to his feelings to Rin by _flashing him his dick._ Well technically, Rin caught him naked in the shower, but the sentiment is the same.

His mother didn't raise him up like this. What would she say? Heck, what would Haru say?! Makoto is a respectful person, and this is in direct violation of his personal rules of engagement-- he at least makes it a policy to have dinner with someone first before getting naked with them.

Rin doesn’t say anything at all when Makoto heads over at the VIP lounge to wait for Sousuke to come pick up Gou. Makoto’s not sure what he’s supposed to make of that.

Maybe he should just go home, take a cab-- it’s not like he lives far away, and he can make a solid case for reimbursing his fare. However Rin quickly vetoes that idea by patting the space beside him, looking expectant. 

And so, not really left with any other logical choice, Makoto sits.

Immediately, his pulse picks up speed again. He’s been spending an increasing amount of time having worrisome heart activity every time Rin shares a couch with him lately.

Gou’s phone rings and she picks up on the third ring. “Sousuke! Are you close by?” she says. Her smile slowly fades into an exasperated frown. “What? Why did you take Coastal road? I told you to take the Metropolitan… You’ve been here several times before Sousuke come on… “ She sighs and rubs her temple. “Alright alright, just tell me what street you are in now. We’re getting a car with a GPS next time, no excuses.”

Rin snorts and slouches down, crossing his ankles over. “Figures,” he mutters in Makoto's direction, sounding casual and bored, as if he just didn’t flirt outrageously with Makoto ten minutes ago. “That guy couldn’t navigate his way out of a paper bag. I told him we can just drop Gou off at their place but he was insistent about picking her up.”

“We have _plans_ Onii-chan,” Gou huffs as she presses the end call button on her phone. She looks at the very noticeable space between Makoto and Rin and grins knowingly. “Also, I don’t want to impose on _yours_.”

 _Rin has plans?_ Makoto looks nervously at Rin, but Rin just shrugs and leans back against the couch again. “Fair enough.”

Rin never told Makoto he had something else after the shoot. Is this still part of Rin’s surprise? Wait-- why is he even assuming that Rin’s plans include him? But then again, Rin clearly said “we” when he mentioned the bit about dropping Gou off… so maybe it’s safe to assume that Rin is at least planning to give him a ride home? But a ride home is hardly one would call “plans.” Maybe Rin has plans after he drops Makoto off?

He looks down, cheeks burning for no good reason. He’s thinking way too hard about this.

“You don’t have to wait for me Onii-chan, Sousuke will be here soon,” Gou says, tucking her phone in her purse as she turns towards them. “Go on ahead, I don’t want to keep you.”

Rin sits up straight, brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”

Gou rolls her eyes. “I’m twenty-six years old Onii-chan, I can take care of myself.”

“Okay, if you say so.” Rin stands up and stretches, removing the cricks from his neck as he does so. “Text me when he picks you up.” He then turns towards Makoto, twirling his car keys with one finger. “Let’s go?”

Makoto gulps. “Yeah,” he manages to squeak out, and follows Rin out into the parking lot, waving goodbye to Gou along the way.

Neither of them say anything-- it’s a fairly short walk and Makoto really has no idea what to say anyway. The night air is cool, but there’s an undeniable tension between the two of them, thick and electric, no doubt remnants of that agonizing locker room incident, which Makoto still can’t believe actually happened.

When they finally get to the car, Makoto quickly places his stuff in the back before climbing into the shotgun seat just as Rin closes the door on the driver’s side.

He buckles up, feeling himself getting flustered more with each second Rin doesn’t say anything.

The sound of Rin’s seatbelt snapping into place followed by the clicking of the headlights are unbearably loud in the small space of the car. Rin guns the engine, still silent, and that’s it, Makoto can’t stand it any more.

He turns sideways, but is halted when his nose comes dangerously close to brushing against Rin’s wrist when Rin stretches his arm over the back of Makoto’s head rest as he cranes his head to look behind them, pulling the car on reverse.

It’s such a simple manuever, but it makes Rin’s shirt stretch over the expanse of his chest, exposing his decolletage, moonlight shining on the hollow of his neck. Makoto once more curses the universe for orchestrating yet another unholy temptation against his poor defenseless self, and slowly turns his head away, feeling his cheeks grow hot for the hundredth time today.

“So,” Rin finally says, as he brings his hand back towards the steering wheel, brushing against Makoto’s shoulder slightly as he does so. “There’s this movie I _really_ want to see tonight.”

He flashes Makoto that gunmetal grin again: dark, alluring, _dangerous_.

“Join me?”

~tbc~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The totally indulgent thigh windows scene is a treat for [Alma](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lisettedelapin), who asked for them a long time ago. <3
> 
> Again, special thanks to attemptsonwords for the beta!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which many things are said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shrugs my shoulders ala Emma Roberts* surprise bitch, i bet you thought you'd seen the last of me

Makoto watches with increasing confusion as Rin drives past Nichigeki Plex, the fourth perfectly functional movie theater they’ve passed along the way to… wherever Rin wants to see this movie. He swallows, drums his fingers on the glove compartment, fiddles with his seatbelt and stretches his legs.

“Why are you so tense?” Rin asks, startling Makoto, who is currently testing the generous leg room of Rin’s fancy sports car and ends up nearly kicking the aircon vent.

“What? Tense?” Makoto laughs a little too nervously and retracts his wandering legs. “No, I’m not tense…  I’m just um, curious, I guess?”

“About?”

“About where we’re going? I mean, we’ve passed several theaters already...”

Rin raises an eyebrow. “You know I can’t exactly just walk into a regular cinema right?”

Makoto pauses momentarily to process that and immediately feels like an idiot. Of course. Rin’s a celebrity; they can’t just waltz into a public movie theater and risk getting swarmed. “Right,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “So um, do you have this other place where celebrities can watch movies in peace?”

“What? No!” Rin frowns. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t go because I think it’s beneath me. I used to _love_ movies. Some of my best memories with my friends and family were in the cinemas. It’s just that well… you know…”

“I know,” Makoto mumbles, ducking his head.  “I didn’t mean to imply it’s beneath you, sorry about that…

Rin shrugs.  “Don’t worry about it. Well, technically, we can still go if you really want to, but I’ll need to call Kisumi so he can give me a disguise first. Otherwise we’ll get hounded by paparazzi.”

Makoto doesn’t know which part of that statement he should react to first: that Rin is actually willing to go to a regular cinema with Makoto, or the part where he’s serious about getting a disguise for it or the fact that it’s _Kisumi_ who is going to provide said disguises to him. He settles for trying to encompass the expanse of this disbelief with a thoroughly befuddled “Huh?”

Rin grins. “Oh yeah. They’re fun. I get to wear buck teeth, the most unique glasses, long flowing tragic anime boy hair for cosplay, the works. One time, he brought a bunch of full body T-rex costumes. Sousuke couldn’t stop laughing for 20 minutes, we seriously thought we had to knock him out.”

Makoto feels his brain suddenly undergoing cosmic trial. ”T-rex suits?” he croaks. “How did you _drive?_ ”

“We didn’t. Gou did. We sat in the back of a pick-up truck and waved at passing vehicles with our puny arms. Those were good times.”

“And how did you fit into the movie seats?”

“Yeah well, we actually didn’t think that far.”

Makoto bursts out laughing, despite how he’s still experiencing massive difficulties parsing this mental image of Rin and his super hot friends prancing around in public in full dinosaur gear. “I can’t believe you did all that stuff.”

Rin rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “What, you think that just because I wear million-yen suits and have a rigid skin care regimen, I can’t do these things?  I’m a dork who says bad puns and does stupid shit like everyone else, Makoto.”

“That’s…” Makoto looks up thoughtfully. “... oddly comforting.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” Makoto reassures him. “I mean, it’s comforting to relate to you in ways unrelated to our profession… to know that you’re not...” The words   _too good for me_ dance at the tip of his tongue, but he bites them back, and lets himself trail off instead, trusting Rin to hear what he’s not saying.

Rin doesn’t, or he pretends not to.  He takes the car to another full stop and catches Makoto’s gaze in the rear view mirror. “I’m not what?”

It takes all of Makoto’s strength not to look away. His mouth is dry, his palms clammy on his thighs, and there’s a sudden, weightless feeling in his chest, not unlike the feeling of leaping headfirst into the unknown.  “Not completely untouchable,” he confesses, almost whispering.

Rin’s eyes widen, clearly stricken by Makoto’s quiet confession, but his gaze does not waver despite it.  “Makoto,” he starts, in a tone that is equal parts wonder and affection. The brake lights of the SUV in front of them bathe his face in a harsh red glow, making him seem almost surreal, like a dream on the edge of fading away into star dust.  Then, without warning, Rin reaches out, lays his hand on one of Makoto’s curved fists, and the breath leaves Makoto’s lungs completely.

“The last thing I want to be is untouchable to _you_.”

_Once, when Makoto was in college, Haru was helping him study for an upcoming photography exam. Makoto had gathered past quizzes on photography equipment for studying, and after around an hour of going through each and every single one of them, he was sure he had everything memorized._

_Haru picked up his notes, scanned it quickly before asking:_

_“What’s the most important part when taking a picture?”_

_The question struck Makoto as odd; it was valid, but by no means specific or quantifiable. Typical Haru.  Makoto had been confident back then-- he rattled off all the camera parts he can think of, but every single answer had been shut down._

_Frustrated, he grabbed the notes from his bag and rifled through them. Everything he said was in there— all the camera parts, settings, diffusers, the works. But the answer wasn’t one of them._

_Haru gave him a rare knowing smile. “Light,” he replied simply, and handed him back his notes._

What he felt back then is the same thing he’s feeling now— a sudden, illuminating spark of clarity, a split second thunderbolt dispelling the clouds of doubt in his mind. Now that it has been pointed it out to him, he wonders why he hasn’t realized it all this time.

“Oh,” he breathes.

The next thing he knows is, there’s a palm firmly grasping the back of his neck, the cool scent of Rin’s cologne wafting over him, and the lightest brush of lips against his, soft and warm.

He supposes there must have been a thousand other things going on right now but it’s as if his entire being is locked in this moment, of Rin leaning across the gearshift and kissing him, here, in the middle of the Monday rush hour traffic. Makoto feels himself yielding to this moment, his mind slowly losing any thought that isn’t Rin, Rin, _Rin._

Like all other moments with Rin, this too, ends much too soon.

“Sorry,” Rin breathes when he pulls away, leaving Makoto dazed in his wake. “You had that look on your face and I just… I couldn’t help myself, I just moved..”

The loud honking of cars behind them pulls them back into reality, and Rin’s eyes widen, as if what he has done only occurred to him now. The light has turned green some time during the three (five? ten?) seconds they were kissing, and the car that was previously in front of them has probably driven 100 meters away.

They pull apart immediately and Rin scrambles to put his car into gear, the engine roaring as he slams on the gas. “This wasn’t how I planned it, oh wow,” he bemoans, as he switches gears at alarming speed. “Who the fuck does their first kiss on an intersection? I am _so_ sorry.”

Makoto is too punch drunk with happiness to care. “It’s okay Rin—”

“—No it’s not,” Rin interrupts, sounding on the verge of hysteria. Makoto winces as they narrowly avoid colliding into another car merging to their lane, which is then followed by a long and angry honking.  “I had this whole evening planned! I was going to keep up this whole movie ruse and find a way for you ask for cheese popcorn and grape soda and I was going to give you wine and this amazing cheese plate instead. We were going to drink and talk until we finish the bottle and that’s when I would kiss you and say something embarrassingly maudlin like, it tastes better with you and then blame it on the wine.”

Makoto understands everything Rin just said but he’s having difficulty parsing the idea that Rin had admitted to all these embarrassing things to him. “That’s um, wow, very…” _flattering, unbelievable, are you sure you should be telling me this_ “...detailed.”

“Yeah well, screw all of that now.” Rin bites his lip, and stares straight ahead, cheeks glowing despite the relative darkness in the car. “You just had to look like _that._ ”  

“Like what?”

“Like… I don’t know. It defies description, in the best way possible.”

Makoto parts his lips to reply, but couldn’t find the words, the raw honesty in Rin’s voice momentarily disabling the part of his brain responsible for conveying how he feels— which are a thousand different things at the same time.  He feels warm.  Bright. _Weightless_ , as if Rin stepped out from the sun to hold his hand and lift him up to the sky.

“See you’re doing it again!” Rin hisses, looking simultaneously cross and embarrassed at the same time.

Makoto looks away and bites down a chuckle. “I’m sorry; I really don’t know how I’m doing it.”

“Of course you don’t,” Rin mutters. “That’s part of the charm.”

“Really, now.”

Rin sighs, and looks straight ahead, bottom lip caught in his teeth. When he speaks again, his voice is low, almost a whisper. “You really don’t know what you do to me, do you?”

Makoto shakes his head.  A newfound courage seeps through him. “I had the occasional feeling,” he confesses.  “I guess… I just didn’t want to believe it.”

“Why?” Rin’s eyes are wide, surprised, and a little bit… hurt?

Makoto doesn’t like it. “I just didn’t think it would be possible for someone like me…”

Rin’s brow furrows.  “Someone like you? Wait—“ His eyes bulge almost comically, as realization dawns on him. “Are you telling me that the only reason you held back is because I’m a _celebrity_?”

Makoto winces. “Ummm, maybe?”

Rin takes an even, controlled breath, like he’s doing his level best not to slap Makoto silly with a driving glove. “Makoto,” he starts through gritted teeth, “I’m sorry to tell you this, but you. Are. An. _Idiot_.”

Makoto looks away sheepishly. “Yeah, I kinda... gathered that.”

“I can’t believe someone as smart and observant as you missed everything I've been throwing your way— and I’m about as subtle as a punch to the face,” Rin rages on, though his voice holds no real anger, maybe some manner of agonized disbelief at best.  “I’ve been doing nothing but praise you rotten every chance I get— I had hoped that would’ve accounted for _something._ ”

“Of course it did!” Makoto answers, squirming a little in his seat. “I just thought that maybe you were being… uh... nice...”

“You thought I was just being… fucking hell, you have got to be _shitting_ me.”

“Sorry,” Makoto whispers. He sounds like he’s one inch tall. Great.

Rin shakes his head, mouth curled into a tight grimace. He chews on his lower lip for a bit, eyes fixed on the road ahead of him.  Makoto fidgets in his seat as Rin keeps eerily silent for a while, the quiet purr of the engine being the loudest sound in the car.

Finally, just when Makoto is about to bring up something— _anything_ — Rin pipes up:

“Do you remember that time, during the Uniqlo shoot when you had to change your clothes?”  His tone is soft but determined. “You asked me what I wanted.”

Of course Makoto remembers. Rin had been much too close back then, the tips of his bangs swaying a few inches from Makoto’s nose. Makoto couldn’t see anything else or _feel_ anything else except for Rin and the intensity of his stare.

There are many forgettable things in the world, but Rin is never going to be one of them. “Yes.”

Rin stares straight ahead at the road. His hands clutch the steering wheel a little more tightly. “I was going to answer ‘ _you.’_ “

Makoto isn’t shocked no— he remembers entertaining that particular notion briefly, but as Rin said, he was an idiot and immediately dismissed it as nothing more than wishful thinking. Nonetheless, Rin’s words close around his heart like a fist, making his chest ache with a sudden, powerful longing. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispers. “You’re the one who told me you always get what you want.”

“You’re the one who told me I need to learn how to ask for these things,” Rin counters swiftly.

Makoto blinks— he never thought that one throwaway line would have so much impact. “So why didn’t you ask back then?”

At this, Rin turns his attention back to the road, shrugging. “Because I wanted you to realize on your own terms that I do want you.” There’s that raw confidence in Rin’s voice again, the one Makoto is so hopelessly enamored to.  “I mean, let’s not kid ourselves. I’m used to people focusing on me, looking at me. _Wanting_ me.  Rarely the other way around.  And... I want a lot of things.  I’m just not used to holding myself back for them. But damn, if I didn’t want to try.”

Once again, Rin robs Makoto of his speech, in that effortless, unassuming way of his that makes Makoto feel _so much,_ leaving hardly any room to breathe or think. “I…”

Rin lets out a bark of hollow laughter before Makoto can formulate a response. “In the end though, I couldn’t resist, and took what I wanted anyway.”

The ensuing silence in the car is heavy but not at all oppressive. Still, Makoto doesn’t know how Rin can _stand_ it.

So he does what he always does whenever something becomes too much for him to bear.  He closes his eyes, lets out the air in his lungs in slow steady breaths. There’s a fiery heat coiling around his heart like a time bomb, and any second now he’s going to burn.

Suddenly, he feels the car slowing down, and before he knows it, it has veered to the left before coming to a complete stop.

If the silence was heavy before, it’s unbearable now, pressing on Makoto’s shoulders like a cape loaded with wet sand. He still hasn’t opened his eyes.

“Makoto.” Rin speaks his name softly, but Makoto hears it like a powerful wave crashing on the shore.

“Makoto,” Rin repeats, and this time Makoto can no longer look away.

He opens his eyes.

Rin’s expression is so openly, achingly _hopeful_ , it takes Makoto’s breath away. “Ask me for what you want.”

They’re on the emergency shoulder of the road. Outside, the city lights seem to blur into the night, a pastiche of neons and incandescent lights against a darkening sky. Cars drive past them, pedestrians walk by, unknowing of what’s happening under the tinted glass windows, uncaring that the world as Makoto knows it, has stopped inside the few square feet of space inside Rin’s car.

Makoto has the answer but he doesn’t have the words.

So he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he unbuckles his seatbelt with one hand and leans over, lifting his other hand to trace his thumb over the crest of Rin’s cheek.

Rin’s eyes are brilliant and beautiful, the prim bow of his mouth open, vulnerable. His fingers curl around Makoto’s wrist.

Makoto leans forward and takes what he wants.

It’s different, this time. Everything that Makoto has been feeling and keeping inside himself, he pours into this moment. Whereas Rin had been impulsive, Makoto is full of intent— he tilts Rin’s chin at an angle that allows Makoto to slot his mouth perfectly against Rin’s, parting Rin’s lips  with a swipe of his tongue. Whereas Rin’s kiss had been chaste and soft, Makoto’s is all primal hunger, tongue slipping into Rin’s mouth, scouring his palate, coaxing the breath and voice out of Rin’s lungs.

Rin makes a soft, broken noise against him, his grip around Makoto’s wrist going loose. Makoto presses against him one last time, teeth slightly scraping along Rin’s lower lip, before drawing away.

Rin’s breath stutters out of him in short soft gasps, his eyes cloudy beneath his lashes, strands of his hair falling around his face, loosened from his pony tail. It’s a good look on him, Makoto decides.

“Fuck,” Rin breathes, voice low. Makoto focuses his gaze on the downward curve of Rin’s cherry mouth, lips glistening, skin glowing gold from the incandescent light of the street lights above them.

And then Rin is yanking at his shirt, pulling him back, not giving Makoto a chance to compose himself. They crash together again in the most delicious way.

Makoto is pretty sure there are certain things he should probably be concerned about at the moment, but it’s hard to think of anything besides the feeling of Rin against him, of Rin’s hands and mouth seeking Makoto’s, of Rin’s voice breathing Makoto’s name. So he stops thinking and allows himself to fall deeper into Rin, his fingers digging deep into the leather of Rin’s belt, suppressing a shudder as Rin’s mouth moves away from his, lips trailing on Makoto’s jaw instead, working his way down until his teeth are gently pinching at the junction of Makoto’s neck and shoulder.

“Rin,” Makoto gasps, eyes closing as Rin shoves a hand up Makoto’s shirt, fingers fanning over the ridges of Makoto’s abs, before slowing slinking lower and—

There’s a loud tapping sound, and Makoto freezes, as he opens his eyes and sees the outline of a hulking police officer looming over the car through Rin’s window.  

Rin is in a similar state of confused panic as he untangles himself from Makoto and turns around, fingers already scrambling to open the window. His expression immediately melts into irritation, when the window rolls down fully and he sees Sousuke (who, Makoto notes, is wearing a cop’s outfit that looks way too detailed and well-fitting to be a real uniform) smirking at them.

“Apologies for the interruption gentlemen,” he says with a straight face, though Makoto could tell by the slight quaking of his shoulders that Sousuke’s barely holding his laughter in. “...but I’d like to remind you that the emergency shoulder bay is not supposed to be used for making out.”

“Why are you doing this,” Rin says, looking up at the car ceiling with dead soulless eyes. “Why must you take such obvious relish in my suffering.”

“Hey, you’re lucky I’m the one who happened to come across you guys, and not an actual cop,” Sousuke retorts, his face breaking out into a grin.

Before Rin can reply to that, there’s a loud honking noise behind them. Rin cranes his head around and sees Sousuke’s car parked right behind Rin’s, Gou sticking her head out from the passenger window, looking inordinately pleased. Makoto rolls open his own window and waves back to her, taking any chance not get in between Rin and Sousuke’s all too frequent head-butting sessions.

“Whatever. It’s not like anyone else will be fooled anyway— that uniform looks way too good for it to be a real one,” Rin grumbles, turning his attention back to his best friend. Makoto hides a laugh at that— Rin’s apologies are something else. “Why the hell are you wearing a cop uniform anyway?”

“I just came from a photoshoot with Kisumi.”

“And you didn’t bother to change into regular clothes after?”

“Nope. Intuition told me I can put it to good use tonight and what do you know…” Sousuke leans his forearms on the roof of Rin’s car and peers down at the two of them knowingly. “I was right.”

Makoto reaches out and grasps Rin’s hand, which looks dangerously close to punching Sousuke in his smarmy perfect face. “So your intuition told you you’ll be catching me and Makoto here on the road?”

“What? Nah, this is a coincidence.” Sousuke leans back from the car and places both hands behind his neck. “Gou wanted to do some role-playing tonight.”

He laughs and reflexively steps away when Rin reaches out the window with an extremely pronounced middle finger, enraged sputtering noises falling from his lips in lieu of words. Sousuke ignores this and focuses his gaze on Makoto. “Seriously though, your place is ten minutes away Rin— go romance Makoto there instead of a public road.”

“I was doing fine until you came along,” Rin spits out, turning to glower at Gou briefly, to which Gou replies by twirling a pair of handcuffs and blowing him a kiss. Makoto tightens his grip on Rin’s wrist, feeling Rin’s fingers clench helplessly at empty air.

Sousuke shrugs before turning around to go back to his own vehicle. “I’m sure Makoto will be more than happy to make up for your shortcomings,” he says over his shoulder, the smirk on his face evident despite being half-turned away from them.

“Rin,” Makoto admonishes lightly when Rin reaches for the door handle, no doubt intending to not let Sousuke get away with the last word.

To his astonishment, Rin actually stops, though the glare he levels in Sousuke’s direction is intense enough to bore lasers through the earth’s core. Sousuke makes his way back to his car, settles into the driver’s seat and slams the door closed. He sticks his head out the window briefly to throw them a jaunty salute, before bringing his car back into the road and peeling away, Gou winking at them as they drive past.

Rin yells one last English profanity at the back of Sousuke’s SUV before he turns off the hazard lights, and grudgingly brings the car back into the road proper. “Why am I best friends with that assbiscuit?” he grumbles as he stomps on the gas and upshifts gears with alarming speed.

“He meant well, Rin,” Makoto points out,  biting his lip to hide his grin. While he did feel a tad disappointed about being interrupted, that brief reprieve only served to make him even more excited for what lies ahead.  “It would’ve been much worse if an actual cop caught us. Sousuke did us a favour.”

“I guess,” Rin acquiesces grudgingly, before letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Goddammit, I knew not hiring my own driver is gonna bite me in the ass one day. We could’ve been making out uninterrupted in the backseat.”

Makoto smiles, Rin’s indignity on his behalf making him much too happy to bother with an appropriately witty comeback. Instead, he reaches out towards Rin’s hand on the gearshift, stroking the back of Rin’s knuckles with the pads of two fingers. “You know, it’s a bad habit to rest your hand on the gear shift while driving,” he says conversationally, taking delight in the way Rin’s grip around the knob tightens under his touch. “Puts unnecessary pressure on the bushings under the shifter.”

There’s the briefest splash of wonder on Rin’s face, no doubt intrigued by Makoto’s newfound boldness. Rin did say he should stop second guessing himself, so might as well start right away.

Then that signature smirk surfaces on Rin’s lips, and without further ado, he lifts his hand from the gear shift, and brings his hand to Makoto’s side, resting on the small patch of leather right beside Makoto’s thigh. “What would you suggest I hold on to then?”

Makoto lift Rin’s hand up, brushing his lips briefly on the lightly perfumed skin of the inside of Rin’s wrist. “I can think of some things,” he whispers, laying Rin’s hand on his palm. Rin wears two rings on his left hand, a simple silver fede band on his ring finger and a trinity ring on his middle one. Makoto wants to take them off with his mouth.

Rin notices him staring and bites his lip. “You’re a driving hazard, you know that.”

Makoto laughs quietly, and brings their hands down, entwining his fingers with Rin’s. “Sorry,” he replies, not feeling sorry at all. He pauses, before adding: “Can I kiss you again on the next stoplight?”

“I would like nothing more but unfortunately, there’s no next stoplight,” Rin answers. He makes a sharp turn to the right, the car gaining speed almost immediately after, which can’t be safe, Makoto’s sure, but he is beyond caring at this point. “Fortunately, we’re almost home.”

 _Home._ The word whispers like a secret in Makoto’s ear, and his cheeks suddenly feel warm.  “ETA?”

“Seven minutes.”

Makoto catches Rin’s gaze in the rearview mirror again. “Make it five.”

Rin grins, slams on the gas, and Makoto has no doubt that he will deliver.

~tbc~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone even still reading this lol, sorry for taking a year to update, but hey at least I've taken the U out of the UST now...
> 
> Three guesses what the last part will contain (hint: it starts with P and rhymes with corn).


End file.
